So many times and in so many ways
by DarkestWolfx
Summary: "He's saved mine so many times and in so many ways." The many times and ways John Watson saved the life of one Sherlock Holmes. Inspired by Sherlock's best man speech. Multi-chapter: A chapter per events from the unseen cases and time in between the episodes we were shown. Small spoilers for 3x02.
1. Prologue

I'm back! So I haven't written anything since August due to being really busy, but I can't resist not writing up all of the ideas I have come up with during that time for Sherlock fanfictions and with the new series airing, this was an inevitable situation really.

Well this was inspired by part of Sherlock's speech as best man. There will also be lots more chapters to this as I will be writing the moments of John saving Sherlock's life. I will also be writing loads more Sherlock stories, so hopefully you'll like them.

* * *

_"Trust me on that, I should know, he's saved mine so many times and in so many ways."_ – Sherlock Holmes, talking about John, from his Best Man speech at John's wedding.

* * *

Sherlock had many enemies, that was a well known fact to most. John, had few of the sort. The Consulting Detective had experience many _'close calls'_ (as John later dubbed them) when chasing suspects or being the one in pursuit.

It was sometimes – more like most times, especially when they were just working as a pair – overlooked as to what John could truly do for Sherlock.

Holmes, would almost certainly be dead – actually dead, not faked – if it was not for one Doctor Watson.

The Detective struggled to count on one hand (and two if he was honest,) just how many times his companion had saved him. But they could be reeled off of his memory in seconds, perfectly remembered till the end point: well, on all except a few.

Over the time John had known Sherlock, the detective had needed saving quite a few times. Whether from something as major as a gunshot wound or as simple as being reminded to eat or sleep or of other normal human functions which the most brilliant mind the army doctor had ever encountered seemed to simply skip over.

Recounting them all was never the hard task after the event itself, the hardest thing about it was accepting there was always the possibility of failing to save each other.

Lestrade knew the most as he had often been there or been called to the scene of an event, but there were even ones that had escaped the Detective Inspector's knowledge. Tales were hidden from Mrs Hudson where ever possible to avoid her worrying and changing yet again from _'not your housekeeper'_ to virtually waiting on them hand and foot. John always tried to avoid Mycroft having extended knowledge of these situations at the most, due to his tendency to turn into a bit too much of a mothering figure.

Sherlock hated it and although John would usually find the first few moments of their ever on going sibling rivalry, he knew how it usually ended. The Holmes brothers would start of as calmly as they could be before reverting into some family related comment that John could never quite wrap his head around. Following that, Mycroft would start mothering his younger brother who would retaliate to this caring nature.

And that was never amusing.

Another that Doctor Watson tried to keep out of these events was one Molly Hooper. Now she was a different story entirely and while John had no issue with her, Sherlock often had a tendency of saying even more not good comments to Molly when something was ailing him. It was from her though, that John had learnt that his friend was a graduate chemist. Although it wouldn't have been that difficult to guess such if you ever saw him work.

Anderson and Donovan were always on Sherlock's list of people who were not to find out (but then almost everyone was,) and John honoured this in the best way possible. The only times he couldn't stop it was when such events took place during a case where both were present. Doctor Watson didn't have a bad working relationship with either of them, however neither were overly willing to work alongside Sherlock, although John supposed this came partially from the Consulting Detective's behaviour towards them. He had dared to ask Greg once which party started the whole thing and one of Scotland Yard's finest answer was that he truly did not know.

One moment he'd introduced them, turned away for a minute and the next their screaming that they won't work with each other.

For the wedding, Sherlock simply shortened all of this to a simple sentence. Not, because he wouldn't have told everyone about all the times John Watson had saved his life, but rather because it would be difficult to shorten the numerous events without running through the whole evening and some – of course not all of them as some did occur in others presense, but some – were to stay between Holmes and Watson

His Best Mans speech had been true though. John Watson has saved Sherlock Holme's life so many times and in so many ways.

* * *

Sorry this is short, but there is more on the way. I should be able to have the next chapter up later, so you can read the first incident of John saving Sherlock. Thank you in advance for any reviews/favourites/alerts and thank you for reading :)


	2. Chapter 1: Being alone

Sorry I couldn't upload this last night. Fanfiction kept bringing up this error message and wouldn't let me add a new chapter. Anyway, this is set after A Study In Pink. Enjoy.

* * *

_"He's saved mine so many times and in so many ways."_

* * *

It had been a week since the meeting of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Mycroft took great pleasure in attempting to convince his younger brother that John would leave by the end of it and the world's only Consulting Detective did his best to not believe the words, although he supposed they could easily be true.

He was – as had been proved in the past seven days - a terrible flatmate.

The flat was generally a mess most of the time, even after they – more like John or Mrs Hudson – tided up everything. He was always working on new experiments which yes, he could just go to Barts for, but being at 221B was easier. Although it did mean chemicals and body parts often littered the kitchen and Sherlock had to ensure John knew enough Chemistry to not move certain chemicals near to other ones. He'd borrowed John's mobile multiple times without asking, which had annoyed the other greatly, especially after Sherlock had forced him to text a serial killer shortly after they met.

But those were merely small things compared to others.

Having lived alone for a while – and even before then really, since he had been a child – Sherlock had little sense of privacy. He basically walked through even the locked doors. John didn't quite understand how Sherlock could do it at first, but the Detective simply explained you could open any lock if you knew roughly where it was and what type by applying the right pressure or force to it.

He'd wake his flatmate up at all unusual hours through one thing or another, the main one to date being through the playing of his violin and as John had questioned the other day, "Is it me or do you only seem to think at night?" Sherlock's reply to that had been, "Only when there are very few cases." John had simply made a _'hmm'_ sound and returned to reading his paper.

Apart from stocking the kitchen with his own strange assortment, Sherlock also didn't do the shopping, which meant the task would quickly be left to John. He opened John's mail one morning, claiming boredom. The flat was sometimes torn apart by hurricane Sherlock and a common thing he did was to leave the windows open, even when it rained.

So overall he was a right pain to live with: now he could sort of see Mycroft's point from when they were children.

So the morning of what would be the start of John's second week of living at Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes was moping. He was sat on the sofa, moping, as he texted Lestrade to ask about any cases the Detective Inspector may have that he could assist with. The rest of the day would be boring if John moved out anyways especially when Lestrade's answer came back as a no, unless he wanted to help with paperwork.

With a sigh, the detective placed his mobile on to the edge of the sofa, steepled his fingers together, placed them under his chin and looked absently over at the fireplace.

"Morning," John greeted as he entered the living room area, sitting down in the armchair that Sherlock was naming John Watson's chair and picked up the paper that was on it. Mrs Hudson brought it up every morning and left it with cups of tea, Sherlock was the one who moved it to be on John's chair. As it became obvious that the detective handed actually heard him – or acknowledged him – John repeated his greeting, "Morning Sherlock."

"Hmm, what, oh yes morning John." Sherlock replied, seeming slightly frazzled for a moment as though he had only just realised the doctor was there, despite the fact he would have been visible from the corner of his eye. John frowned slightly, returned to his paper for a moment and then lowered it, looking over at Sherlock curiously.

"Are you alright?"

"Mmm, me? Fine. Brilliant actually. Wonderful in fact." The youngest Holmes brother answered far too quickly for the army doctor's liking.

"No you're not, what's wrong?" Sherlock didn't answer just continued to stare at the fireplace. After another moments silence, John spoke again, "Have you eaten this morning? Can I get you anything? I'm making myself some toast, so it's not a problem."

"Nothing for me thanks." Sherlock told him simply as John stood up and headed into the kitchen, returning seconds later.

"What's going on?" He asked as Sherlock quickly glanced over him. John had learnt to understand how Sherlock came to do this when he was deducing things. The Consulting Detective looked over at the door before looking back at John, almost curiously.

"No bags." He mumbled.

"What?" John asked, having barely heard what Sherlock said: if you could call it that, it was more like mouthed or whispered. The detective simply shook his head and looked back over towards the fireplace.

"No cases. Lestrade has no cases which of which require my assistance." Sherlock spoke, changing his words slightly, but hoping it was still similar enough for John to not notice.

"Oh right," Once again the doctor disappeared into the kitchen as the recognisable sound of toast popping up in a toaster could be heard, "Are you sure you don't want anything?"

To that he received no answer.

* * *

To hours later and Sherlock was still completely bored and was texting (annoying) Lestrade again, asking if anything had changed. His reply was simple.

_No! Certainly not my paperwork if you keep this up – Lestrade_

"Still no cases then?" John questioned as Sherlock abandoned his mobile once again. Sherlock just made a groaning sound, "Why don't you stop texting Lestrade and find something else to occupy yourself with?" John suggested.

Sherlock once again gave him no answer. John rolled his eyes with a sigh as he flicked through the TV channels.

* * *

The Consulting Detective, John realised as the day wore on, seemed to be giving him the hard, cold shoulder. Most attempts at conversation had been ignored since the morning and it was as though he was living alone again and his flatmates existence had expired. By early evening, John was sick of it.

"What is your problem with me today?" He asked, gaining Sherlock's attention, "You've been ignoring me for hours now ever since this morning."

"Not a problem," Sherlock mumbled, staring over at the TV for a minute, "At least I won't miss that rubbish."

"I'm sorry?" John questioned and Sherlock looked round suddenly in a slight daze before realising he had spoken out loud.

"I was talking about the TV."

"I can turn it off if it's irritating you. I have no need to watch it, bec-" John was cut off by his flatmate as he stood, planning on grabbing the remote from where he had left it earlier.

"You're leaving?" The detective questioned as he noticed the doctor stand up.

"I was going to say, because it is all rubbish. Um, where did that come from may I ask?" Sherlock avoided his question, "Do you want me to leave?" Once again he received no answer as the other grabbed his phone.

"What was it you said this morning?"

"Hmm, when?" Sherlock questioned, noticing the way John had changed subjects.

"You said 'no cases,' but that wasn't what you said the first time, because you were looking at me. You didn't need to look at me in your analytical, observing way in order to tell me that, just your phone."

"I said no bags," Sherlock admitted truthfully after taking in a small breath, "Because you didn't have anything packed and waiting by the door."

"Why would I?" John asked, now thoroughly intrigued as to just what was going on in the detectives mind.

"Well you're leaving aren't you?"

"Um, no, I have no idea where you got that one from I'm afraid." The medic answered, looking over at his friend, in wait for further explanation.

"But My- I thought-" Sherlock seemed to trip over words for a moment before forming some kind of coherent sentence, "I thought you would be since I'm probably _the_ worst flatmate you could ever have. I wake you up in the middle of the night; contaminate the kitchen; open locked doors; text murders or other random strangers you've never met from your phone; open your mail-"

He didn't get any further through his list as John cut him off.

"How long does this list go on for? It's just that there are probably other things you would prefer to be doing right now like – um, I don't know – microwaving human eyeballs?"

"No, it's not too long, I ha…" Sherlock let himself trail off, "Hang on, I thought you said that idea repulsed you?"

"It does, but this conversation is really freaking me out, because I have no idea what on earth you are going on about and I'm so tempted to check with Mycroft as to whether you have taken anything."

"I haven't," Sherlock told him and John tilted his head to the side slightly, "I really haven't."

"Okay, so where had this whole me moving out idea come from?"

"Because I must be a terrible flatmate." Sherlock answered, looking down at the floor of 221B.

"Oh you are." John told him and Sherlock instantly looked over at him.

"Really?"

"Oh yes, certainly. I mean everything you said is true, added to that fact that I only feel safe to touch three things in that kitchen and that you have barely any idea of anything to do with human nature, but I'm not moving out."

"You're not?"

"No." John answered simply.

"So you aren't going to listen to Donovan and Anderson or-"

"No," This time John replied with an added head shake, "No, I'm staying here. If you don't mind that is."

"No of course I don't." Sherlock answered and John stood up and headed to the kitchen.

"So are you actually going to eat dinner or am I cooking for myself again?"

"Neither." Sherlock informed him as he moved from the sofa for the first time that day with a smile, grabbing his coat and scarf.

"Neither?" John asked as he looked back into the living room, noticing Sherlock's actions, "Oh no, Lestrade would."

"Oh yes, at last a case, John." Sherlock told him as he passed the doctor his jacket before turning and heading down the stairs with the other following.

"Maybe I do have a reason to move out." John was joking of course and laughed along with it, however Sherlock came to a sudden halt, flinging his head around to face him.

"Sherlock, joking," The Consulting Detective still seemed unsure, "People make jokes. There usually not true and meant to be funny."

"Oh," Sherlock announced, nodding his head slightly before running down the stairs again, desperate to get out of the house and solve his new case, "Come on John!"

* * *

It was late (past ten o clock) by the time the pair made it in and John offered to get Sherlock something to eat or drink, which the detective of course denied. The Consulting Detective had managed to solve the case rather simply, but even still both of them were tired and John was sure that Sherlock would actually be divulging into the world of sleep tonight rather than wondering around the flat for hours.

"So you're definitely staying?" Sherlock questioned curiously as he sat himself on the sofa, looking over at his flatmate? Colleague?

"Yeah of course I am," John answered, "I need somewhere to live. Besides that, you need a friend." The doctor gave him a smile and Sherlock allowed himself to smile back, but only for the briefest of seconds. Although John was sure he saw the movement of the detective's lips.

And that was the second story (counting John's shooting of the cab driver,) of how John Watson saved the life of Sherlock Holmes: by giving him a friend and making him not alone.

* * *

So there's the first. Hopefully I can have the second up by tomorrow as I already have a basis of what I'm going to write. Thank you for all of the reviews, favourites and alerts so far and of course thank you for reading :)


	3. Chapter 2: Heat exhaustion

This is still set after a Study In Pink and before The Blind Banker.

Summary: John really didn't understand why Sherlock felt the need to wear a coat and scarf in the middle of summer, especially when it led up to so many possible problems.

* * *

_"He's saved mine so many times and in so many ways."_

* * *

John was beginning to learn patterns when it came to Sherlock Holmes. Whether they were as simple as the only TV he ever watched was the news, that he knew how to drive, but chose not to or that he rarely slept for more than six or seven hours. One he hadn't been expecting was that Sherlock wore a coat and scarf no matter what the weather, even if it was nearing summer and the supposedly hottest day of the year.

So as they made their way to the scene of their latest crime, the doctor couldn't help but be slightly curious as to why. He didn't get an answer to that question though, so he had stopped asking.

"At last, couldn't you have been any quicker?" Lestrade asked as he saw Sherlock and John appear from the lane.

"Traffic." Sherlock answered simply as he started walking in step with Lestrade towards the scene.

"Get a car then instead of cabs all of the time," Lestrade told him, "Surely that's expensive as well?"

"Waste of time having a car in London and no." The Consulting Detective offered no elaboration on that and so it was quickly dropped. The DI showed Sherlock the scene and turned to John as the other started to investigate.

"He sounded far too happy on the phone."

"Yes, well he's been extremely bored and I'm determined to keep him off drugs." John replied. After meeting John Watson more fully and having the opportunity for conversation, Lestrade actually didn't mind the man. As Sherlock now dragged the Doctor around to cases with him, Scotland Yard's Detective found himself having someone down to earth to talk to while they watched and waited for Sherlock's mind to work its genius.

"John," Sherlock called only minutes into the pairs conversation, "Medical opinion please."

"Right," John replied, looking at Lestrade before moving over towards the body and kneeling down. Sherlock stood beside him, checking something on his mobile, "I'd say overdose."

"Yes." Sherlock mumbled in answer.

"Yes?" Lestrade questioned, "So we aren't looking at murder?"

"Yes, but no, rather you are," The Consulting Detective replied and John frowned for a moment, "He died of an overdose, but it wasn't self injected."

"Wasn't?" John queried.

"No," Immediately Lestrade seemed to be paying complete attention and John grabbed his notebook and pen, ready to take down the details, "He's left handed, that angle would be hard to reach, so not self injected. He's never injected any form of drug from before by the looks of things either." The Oxford graduate handed something to Lestrade, who looked it over curiously.

"He's travelled by train, late last night. Probably walked rather than got a cab, especially since he's visiting his mother."

"How do you know that?" John asked curiously.

"Note in his pocket." Sherlock answered.

"Oh right." The army medic mumbled with a slight shake of his head.

"It will happen again a couple of nights probably."

"So it's like the other one from four nights ago?" Lestrade questioned.

"Yes, exactly. Someone arrives at Paddington train station late at night, no noticeable heavy luggage, or none at all, not an existing drug user, but in London for a reason and they get murdered by an overdose."

"So any idea who we've looking for?" John asked as he finished taking notes.

"No, but how we'll find out," Sherlock paused, but as John and Lestrade said nothing, he sighed and continued, "The first victim was female, this one's male, so I'm guessing the next will also be female. You're looking for someone who can get their hands on a lot of drugs and judging by the height of the injection sights on both of the bodies, right handed and about five foot twelve in height who also wears gloves."

"Right, really easy to find." Lestrade commented. John put his notebook away as Anderson and the rest of his forensics team made their way over as the pair left to return to Baker Street.

* * *

Sherlock was able to track down the right guy rather easily with the help of his homeless network only three days later and that was what led to him and John running through the streets of London after a suspect on the hottest day of the year.

John had frequently asked him over the past few days to not where his coat and scarf outside, but his medical advice and valid opinion on the situation were quickly ignored: every time.

They just about had him when things started to seem wrong, but it was okay as the man ran straight into Lestrade as he climbed out of his car and showed his warrant card.

John and Sherlock stood a little way away, catching their breath and the doctor quickly noticed that Sherlock wasn't getting his back as quickly as he usually did after running distances at a face pace, which was worrying sign number one. Worrying sign number two arose when the detective took a step towards Lestrade and swayed backwards slightly as though his balance had gone. Worrying sign number three, proved to John that he had been right all along.

"Sherlock, stop!" He called as he moved to walk alongside the detective, "Lestrade can handle this now and we can go home, becau-" John didn't get to finish the end of his sentence (not that his friend would have approved of it anyway and would most likely have dismissed it with a wave of his hand,) as the taller stopped and placed a hand to his head, swaying slightly.

The doctor reached out and held onto his friend lightly, but still with enough force to keep him upright should he fall more one way or another and in the direction of the floor. Lestrade made his way over at this point and looked on at Sherlock both curiously and worriedly.

"Is he alright?" He asked and John shook his head.

"I'm guessing heat exhaustion, hopefully not heatstroke I don't think I could deal with that. It would drive Sherlock mad."

"The coat and scarf is probably not helping is it?" Once again John shook his head, "Come on, I'll give you a lift to Baker Street. It's easier than attempting to walk with him like that. Well done on figuring that guy out by the way."

"Thanks." John replied as they made their way towards Lestrade's car. It was virtually obvious that Sherlock looked as though he was going to faint or pass out and he would most likely have fallen over by now had it not been for his flatmates presence holding him up.

* * *

By the time they reached Baker Street, Lestrade had to help John almost carry the taller Detective up the stairs to 221B. The police officer also carried Sherlock's scarf and coat which John had removed before they got into the car.

Mrs Hudson made her way into the hall as they entered and made their way to the stairs. Her planned cleaning the hall time was always a Thursday around half eleven as Sherlock had told him after he moved in.

"Oh, whatever happened?" She asked as she saw the three make their way upstairs.

"I'll explain in a moment," John told her, "Do you think you could give me a hand?"

"Give me a minute." She told him before returning to her flat as John and Lestrade continued upstairs.

"Lay him on the sofa," John told Lestrade as they entered the flat or rather the very – yet again despite the fact it was only tided on Tuesday – messy flat and the Detective Inspector wasted no time in doing just that, "Does Sherlock often go out in the middle of summer in a coat?" John asked as he moved about and the other sighed in response.

"Yes, but in the five years I've known him this has never happened."

"Or rather it has, but no one noticed," John corrected, "Sherlock's good at hiding things."

"I know," Lestrade replied, a slightly sad edge to his voice, "Unless it's to do with deductions or cases, because then he's a right show off - doesn't leave out a thing."

"There's no need to tell me that, I've witnessed it," John started, "Although I still think it's brilliant." As John moved a hand towards Sherlock's forehead, the ill detective blinked his eyes and batted it away with the little strength he had making it a very feeble attempt and overall useless.

Lestrade chose this moment to leave as Mrs Hudson made her way up the stairs with a bowl of cold water in one hand and a towel in the other, "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Not at the moment thanks, Mrs Hudson." John replied as he made an attempt to cool Sherlock's temperature down by placing the cool water against his brow.

* * *

Sherlock drifted between being partially awake and completely out of it. John found it a lot easier to help him when he wasn't awake and trying to fight him off insisting in mumbles that made barely any sense that he was fine. The doctor didn't believe a word.

Over the night, John worried briefly that there was a point were Sherlock was getting worse and not better. Mrs Hudson had remained sat up with him and the moment John suggested a hospital trip, she shook her head in disagreement. John added it to his mental list of things to ask about.

Only half an hour later, the Landlady was shooing John off to sleep, insisting he could spare half an hour and that she would watch the detective all the while.

The medic obliged, but slept in his armchair.

* * *

When the morning rolled in and Sherlock was still no better (no almost most certainly worse,) John was sure that despite his best efforts, Sherlock's heat exhaustion had changed to heatstroke, especially if his shallow breathing was anything to go by.

Mrs Hudson was making him tea when Lestrade made his way up the stairs, whatever he was about to say evaporating as he entered the room.

"Oh, so Sherlock's no better?" The Inspector asked, even though it was clear.

"No, sorry," John replied, "Why? You wanted him for a case didn't you?"

"I did. I'll have to make do without him I suppose," With a sigh Lestrade turned around, "Let me know if you need anything and when he's better."

"I will." John assured him before the other left. It was half an hour later when he gave in and called Mycroft, despite how he knew Sherlock would react. He was engrossed in the phone call that he barely noticed Sherlock open his eyes.

"Hi, Sherlock has heatstroke and I-" John was cut off my Mycroft.

"Then look after him John, you are a doctor if I'm not wrong," There was a short pause, but still too short for John to get a word in, "But whatever you do don't take him to a hospital, they'll be a riot act starting."

"Yes, but Mycroft yo-" All John heard after that was the sound of a call being disconnected, however not by Mycroft, but rather Sherlock, who seemed to find life at the announcement of his brother's name and had quickly whisked the phone from John's hands, "Sherlock!"

"Ow, my head." Was the Consulting Detective's only reply as he raised a sweaty hand to his forehead.

"You shouldn't have moved so quickly, lay back down," John ordered as he picked up the cloth again and Mrs Hudson re-entered the room, "Can I have a glass of water please?" John asked her and she nodded happily, moving to the kitchen to do just that."

"Don't need it." Sherlock mumbled again and John could only sigh.

"Yes you do. You have heatstroke and you're shortening your sentences of course you need it." John took the glass from Mrs Hudson as she held it out to him and helped Sherlock to drink it before returning to his previous action.

* * *

Over the course of the day, Sherlock's temperature had dropped and John became satisfied that heatstroke was becoming a resolved matter. The day hadn't been easy. Sherlock had spent a lot of it awake, confused at some points and with a splitting headache that shortened all of his usually long and quick sentences to slow two or three word phrases.

There had been points of complete dehydration and muscle cramps – mainly in his arms from his elbow to his wrist – that looked rather painful from where John was sat and he did his best to ease that, but muscles are hard things to treat, especially when your patient bats your helping hands away all of the time.

Mrs Hudson worked at John's beck and call for most of the day, determined to help and at other points busied herself with tiding the flat. John remained sat beside the sofa, attending to Sherlock's ill – but recovering – health.

"Oh Sherlock, I do wish you wouldn't do things like this." Mrs Hudson started later on.

"Like?"

"Going out in this weather in a coat and scarf, it's not needed."

"I did tell him." John added.

"You tell what My say…" Sherlock trailed off, not really knowing what he was saying at that point as he dozed off again. John and Mrs Hudson just exchanged looks.

* * *

Later that evening, Sherlock was sat up with a thin blanket traipsed over him. He had complained to John about an hour earlier that he was cold and upon taking the detectives temperature, John could see why. Sherlock's temperature had cooled significantly to be considered normal again, but with such abuse to temperatures, the chills he felt were only to be considered normal.

Mrs Hudson had disappeared downstairs to cook something for them all, which had amused both men as she always claimed her usual, _'not your housekeeper'_ when they asked something, but yet always did it anyway as well as other things without being asked.

John was sat beside Sherlock on the sofa now, flicking through the TV channels in an attempt to find something of vague interest.

"You phoned Mycroft."

"You made yourself ill."

"I did nothing of the sort," Sherlock told him, "It's not my fault the weather decided to be so warm."

"That's why most people start to where suitable summer weather attire." John responded.

Sherlock huffed, "Britain doesn't have summers, it has rain."

"Some of the time, not all," Silence followed their short conversation before John spoke again, "Why don't you like hospitals? Both Mycroft and Mrs Hudson said not to take you to one, despite the fact you were majorly ill."

"I don't like them." Sherlock simply replied, but John decided not to press the issue since Sherlock had been so ill for the previous hours.

"Look next time you go out in this heat, you have to shed the coat and scarf."

"But-"

"I'll tell Lestrade no cases." John told him and Sherlock quickly re-thought his answer.

* * *

A week later when Lestrade called for their assistance, Sherlock wore both the coat and scarf much to John's digression. The medic made no comment, just watched for the moment any symptoms of heat exhaustion appeared.

And that was the third story of how John Watson saved the life of Sherlock Holmes: by saving him from the power of the summer heat.

* * *

Okay, hopefully I can have the next up by Friday. Thanks for reviewing, alerting, favouriting and reading :)


	4. Chapter 3: Trip

This is still set after a Study In Pink and before The Blind Banker.

Summary: It had been Lestrade's fault really that they were even there in the first place. John has to deal with Sherlock's latest 'trip.'

* * *

_"He's saved mine so many times and in so many ways."_

* * *

Lestrade had phoned asking Sherlock for directions in order to find a drugs gang that he was on the hunt for and Sherlock's voluntary response had been a simple, "I'll come and help you," which was originally declined. However when the Detective Inspector had no idea where he was being led to, he begrudgingly agreed.

Sherlock Holmes's homeless network were extremely helpful – even if some did need a bit more of a bribe than others – to lead them in the right direction. As always, John marvelled at his companion's ability, trying to stick to doing so in his head despite Sherlock's like to his compliments.

All of the running in circle had tired them all out to the point where they had to stop to get their breath back. Greg sighed unhappily, "I guess we'll have to give up the chase then."

"I thought you said you weren't giving up?" John asked curiously.

"It's getting dark and we'll never find them now. I'll just have to let someone else take the case and get the credit."

"We'll find them," John started, "We've still got time right Sherlock? Sherlock?"

"Hmm, yeah." Sherlock answered as though he was in a completely different world. Only seconds later, he was running off at breakneck pace.

"Sherlock!" John and Lestrade shouted out in unison, looking quickly to eat other before running after him. The lanes twisted and turned, the Doctor and Detective Inspector hurrying after their friend, rushing in fear for what he was following especially considering how he had been spaced out only seconds earlier.

John and Lestrade rounded the corner just in time to see someone jab something at Sherlock at run off. The Consulting Detective's body just crumpled to the ground, folding in on itself as though Sherlock had no backbone.

Neither of them could rush forwards quick enough.

* * *

Five… no four, four fingers and two- clouds dancing at night... case. _The_ case, Lestrade's case. The drugs gang- the thrill, the work… brain rotting.

All that Sherlock knew was that someone had given him drugs and he was losing his mind to this one.

So what was it?

* * *

John reached Sherlock first and almost fell onto his knees himself beside the detective. Lestrade skidded to a halt before kneeling down more carefully than the ex-army medic.

Check breathing, pulse, airways.

Lestrade had pulled on a pair of gloves and grabbed the now empty syringe from Sherlock's arm, "What was it?" John asked worriedly, hoping that Lestrade may be able to shed some light on the situation.

"I don't know," He answered, "A drug of some kind certainly. Sherlock would know."

"Well Sherlock can't tell us can he?" John asked sarcastically before checking Sherlock's pupils , "It's something strong though."

"So Class C or stronger then," Lestrade answered, using his police knowledge to try and help out the situation, "To narrow it down, I'll need more than that though."

"It's come on pretty quickly whatever it is," John started, deciding to try and use what he had learnt from watching Sherlock's deductions, "So injected drug means it can be a liquid form. It's taken hold quickly, so it's possible stronger: more potent than if it wasn't a liquid?"

"You tell me," Lestrade replied, "I can't do what Sherlock does. But if it helps, I'd take a guess that's it's definitely an illegal substance."

Sherlock chose that moment to move – well if you could class it as movement – with an action that could barely be classed as such and seemed completely related to paralysis. Lestrade looked completely confused when it seemed as though Sherlock making an attempt to get up and even though he was barely lifting himself up a few centimetres from the ground, he was slamming down onto it harder.

"What's wrong with him? What's he trying to do?" Lestrade questioned.

"Get up I think," John answered quickly, before leaning over his friend and trying to keep him down onto the floor to avoid hurting his back, which he eventually would if this was kept up, "Sherlock? Sherlock can you hear me? You need to snap out of it!"

"Do you want me to call an ambulance? He'll hate me for it for a while, but he'll get over it." Lestrade offered.

"Why doesn't he like hospitals? I've wanted to know that since he had heatstroke last week." John questioned as he tried to get Sherlock to wake up.

"You'd have to ask his brother," Lestrade informed him, "When I met Sherlock I was told not to take him to a hospital – as a patient anyway – if the situation could be avoided."

"Oh. Sherlock? Sherlock! Stop moving, you're okay."

"What's happening now?"

"I think he's having a panic attack out of confusion from whatever that thing was that he was injected with," John explained, "Can you try and figure out what that is, please and quickly."

"I really don't know, morphine?" Lestrade suggested, "Or something like it. John I really don't know and I think you should let me call an ambulance before this gets out of hand."

"No, we can't do that. Mycroft's ordered us both not to for some reason. He told me that I had to look after him, so I will."

"Okay, I just think a hospital would have better resources to deal with this than the pair of us in a London lane with no awareness as to what he's got in his system."

"Sherlock? Sherlock, wake up. You need to snap out of this." Lestrade was updating Sally as to where they were, asking if she could bring some people down there to see if they could track the guy down still. She didn't seem happy, but agreed in the end.

"John, maybe the hospital could give him something to knock this out or him you know like they do for operations with anaesthetics."

"We're not going to a hospital! Sherlock, its John can you hear me?" The moment he finished speaking, something clicked in John's mind and he quickly looked to Lestrade, "Wait what was that last thing you said?"

"I was talking about operations and anaesthetics." Scotland Yard's officer spoke again, slightly dazed and confused.

"Can I see that syringe?" John questioned, hoping he'd find his answer written on it. Lestrade passed a glove to him, "Hold Sherlock for me. Only lightly though." The two swapped and Doctor Watson inspected the empty medical device.

"Sherlock? John!" Lestrade called after a moment and John immediately looked back, "I don't think he's on the same wavelength as us at the moment, heck I'm not sure he's even in the same world as us."

"It's ketamine."

"What?"

"The drug, its ketamine." John repeated.

"Are you sure?" Lestrade asked, "Isn't that a medical usage drug?"

"An anaesthetic. In high enough qualities it can reduce sensations in the body, cause hallucinations and paralysis, panic attacks, confusion and distort reality. It's fast working as a liquid – it has to be, because of its job – and more dangerous, it means you don't know what you're doing. Makes it easier to hurt yourself."

"Okay, now you have to let me call an ambulance." Lestrade told John, who looked up at him in uncertainty as he took in a deep breath, completely unsure as to whether he could save Sherlock from the inside of his head.

* * *

"H… trip…"

"Ho… get him out?"

"Wha… freak go…"

"Don.. shh."

"Thi… what happens… cases."

"Anderson!"

Oh, yes Anderson, lowering the IQ of everyone. Where was everyone? Hearable, voice, sirens, well sort of. Wait no- darkness. Only darkness.

And that darned umbrella!

* * *

"He's tripping!" John spoke out loud as he tried his best to help Sherlock, whilst attempting to clarify what he meant to everyone else, "He's stuck in his mind."

"How do we get him out?" Lestrade asked curiously, wanting to help as much as he could.

"What's freak gone and done now?" Sally Donovan asked as she climbed out of her car, followed by Anderson, which explained to Lestrade why she hadn't been happy to turn up.

"Some silence would be nice." John mumbled and Lestrade turned his gaze to the approaching pair.

"Donovan, ssh."

"This is exactly what happens when you let him in on your cases."

"Anderson!"

"What it's true!" The male answered back, but he shut up the moment Greg glared at him, not wanting to be shouted at again.

"Just do what you're told, both of you." Lestrade ordered, waiting for John's commands.

Considering Sherlock's drug history, you wouldn't think it would have such an effect, but you would be wrong to presume that. Lestrade soon filled John in that Sherlock hadn't – to his knowledge at least – had any dealings with drugs for five years, on the promise that he could help out Lestrade.

Although Sherlock had never been one to take ketamine according to the list Greg had been given by Mycroft.

* * *

Around an hour later, Sherlock showed signs of being able to move directly, telling John that the paralysis was wearing or had worn off. His only worry with that was that there would be far more of an opportunity for Sherlock to injure himself.

Things went right for Lestrade though, as he and Donovan had managed to catch the gangs leader. Although John had been left with Anderson's company.

The Consulting Detective was slowly seeming to return to the real world and not a distorted version.

"Sherlock?" John asked as his friend seemed to be blinking his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up, "Can you hear me?"

"Course can."

"Yes of course you can, come on." Going home had been an arduous taxi journey of trying to keep Sherlock in the real world as much as possible. He was sure the cab driver was giving him strange looks.

Sherlock was sort of walking himself up the stairs, but john daren't let go of the younger for even a second.

"John?" Sherlock asked once they were inside of the flat. The doctor was in the kitchen, trying to move some of Sherlock's latest experiments in order to make space. He had nothing else to do and all he wanted to do was sleep, however he downright refused to leave Sherlock up alone while there was a possible chance that he still had the effects of ketamine interfering with his body.

The Consulting Detective was using the wall to lean against as he pointed to the table, "What happened?"

"We were hoping you could answer that."

"He gave me something. I don't know what."

"Ketamine. Lestrade and I worked it out."

"Good, knew you would," John mumbled something that sounded like an simple 'of course' or 'you would,' but Sherlock continued either way, "Did I imagine that Donovan and Anderson were there or were they actually?"

"They were," John answered and you could instantly see Sherlock's face fall, "Don't worry, they missed the worst part. They just saw that you were on unconscious."

"Oh," Sherlock answered before taking an extended step forwards and swapping the wall for the table. After a moment he posed the next question that had been on his mind, "Was Mycroft there?"

"No, I didn't even ring him to let him know what happened. I bet you he'll kidnap me for a 'chat' tomorrow," Sherlock laughed at his, but both of them knew the likely possibility of it being completely true, "Why did you think Mycroft was there anyway?"

"Because I kept seeing that annoying umbrella of his!" And that was the single most interesting thing John had heard all day.

And that was the fourth story of how John Watson saved the life of Sherlock Holmes: by saving him from tripping.

* * *

Okay, well there's chapter three. Hopefully I can have four up by Monday. Also just as a reminder, you are allowed to request any situations that you would like to see written, but only until the twenty second of January (for now anyway, I may open requests again later,) so that I can have an idea of where they would slot in well. Thank you for all of the reviews, alerts and favourites - they mean a lot to me - and of course for reading :)


	5. Chapter 4: Cold

This is still set after The Blind Banker, but before The Great Game.

Summary: John learns that silence in 221B isn't as peaceful or pleasing as you would thing and that Sherlock doesn't really seem to know the meaning of ill.

* * *

_"He's saved mine so many times and in so many ways."_

* * *

John knew something was wrong when he was up before Sherlock. Most people would just ignore it if their flatmate was sleeping in, but John couldn't. He knew Sherlock. He knew Sherlock well enough to know that no matter what he didn't sleep in late.

Sherlock was always up looking for something to do and as a result the Baker Street flat was hardly ever quiet. Many a time John had wished for a moment of peace and quiet, but now that he had it, he was finding it to be very disconcerting.

"Sherlock?" John called questioningly as he stood outside of the Detective's bedroom, "Sherlock, are you awake yet?"

Receiving no answer was unsettling and quite frankly unnerving. So he knocked and waited for another couple of minutes. The Doctor was about to push the door open when it opened from the inside and Sherlock's slightly dishevelled form appeared.

"Are you okay?" John asked curiously, noting the way Sherlock was leaning on the door.

"Hmm fine," The younger answered, "What is it?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay. It's ten o clock and you're usually up by then that's all." Sherlock just coughed in response. A dry cough that sounded far too chesty to John.

"I'm getting up now anyway." Sherlock told him once he stopped coughing, his voice sounding dry as he headed back into his room, leaving the door open as he grabbed his dressing gown.

"Maybe you should stay in bed." John suggested, already developing theories as to what was wrong with his friend.

"No, John there's work to do."

"Sherlock there's not. You only solved that bank case a couple of days ago, have a rest."

"Exactly John a couple of days. I hate it when Lestrade's away - remind me to never let him go away again - means no one consults me on anything."

"So what are you going to do instead then?" John asked as he followed his flatmate through to the kitchen.

"Experiment." Sherlock answered simply before moving to do just that in the kitchen. John sighed, moved into the living room, sat in his chair and picked up the paper in wait.

* * *

He didn't have to wait long before Sherlock sat down on the sofa, curling in on himself. The silence in the flat reigned for half an hour before Doctor Watson decided that he just couldn't stand it.

"Right, come on, you need to go back to bed."

"I'm fine here thanks." Sherlock mumbled in response as he curled further in on himself if that was even possible.

"Sherlock you've only been up for twenty minutes."

"Exactly, so I have no need to go to bed."

"You're ill."

"No, I'm Sherlock."

"Yes I know that," John replied exasperatedly, "I mean health wise."

"Wealth wise? I'm not sure, you'd have to ask Mycroft." Sherlock replied and John placed a hand to his forehead.

"No, I really don't," The medic informed his friend as he placed his paper down and crossed the short distance to the sofa, "Come on, bed."

"Bart's? I don't need to go there. Unless you want me to apologise to Molly for the feet." John just looked at his friend in confusion, deciding not to ask another question before pulling Sherlock up off of the sofa as carefully as possible.

The taller leaned on him greatly on the journey down the corridor, but the army doctor had been expecting that. It was hard to tell when Sherlock was ill. He barely slept and had a common lack of appetite. Though this time, it was helped by the fact that Sherlock was extremely warm to the touch of a palm, the cough he had was obviously chesty and he seemed tired – something which Sherlock Holmes was never usually. He would diagnose Sherlock as having the flu or a very bad cold at the least.

He sat Sherlock on the bed and quickly left to get some medicine from their cabinet. He brought the packets back in with him along with a glass of water, as he was undecided on what was best to give Sherlock and wished to observe a bit longer before making his decision, taking Sherlock's drug history into consideration. He'd grabbed a thermometer at the same time and upon returning promptly stuck it under Sherlock's tongue.

Silence filled the room for a few minutes while John stopped Sherlock from speaking. The beeping of the medical device interrupted the silence and allowed Sherlock to talk again.

"Forty point five." John spoke allowed, not really sure if his ill flatmate was even listening, "Christ Sherlock, how did you even get out of bed this morning? Didn't you realise you were ill?"

"No such thing." The Detective muttered in reply and John shook his head. Apparently illness was another section of Sherlock's mind palace that was lacking in information, even just the basics. He was aware that Sherlock was watching him with a careful eye as he decided paracetamol was a safe enough option.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked curiously, seeming becoming slightly delirious from the looks of things to John.

"Trying to decide what medicine to give you."

"Morphine will do."

"Sherlock, three points; one, I don't have any, two, you don't need it and three, I wouldn't give you any even if I did." The Consulting Detective just groaned.

"Come on, paracetamol will have to do," John held the tablets out to Sherlock who made no move to take them, "Take them Sherlock, it will help with the fever." After a moment, Sherlock took them and swallowed them without even taking a thought to the glass of water.

John was glad when Sherlock fell asleep and focussed on bringing his fever down without complaint or action to stop him being launched.

* * *

Sherlock woke up and blinked as the spun into focus. He fell off of the bed only seconds later. The noise was enough to cause John to look up from his book and back over at his friend.

"Sherlock," John rose to his feet and moved around to the other side of the bed, helping the younger up and sitting him down again, "How are you feeling?"

"Cold." Was his only reply and just the way Sherlock had said it sounded cold.

"Well you're still really warm, so you probably have chills."

"Of course I have skills John, I'm the world's only Consulting Detective."

"No, I said… Oh forget it."

"Forget what? There's nothing to forget."

"Of course there isn't." John told him, as he pulled the blankets up around Sherlock again to try and help get rid of the chills.

"No." Sherlock was asleep again in moments.

* * *

When Sherlock woke next, ten whole hours had past and the night had quickly drawn in to make the time somewhere around ten o clock. John was on the phone to Mycroft and the moment he saw Sherlock walking into the living room, he tried to get out of the conversation.

"Oh well he's awake now, so I'll have to call you back," There was silence for a moment and Sherlock looked at him curiously, "Yes, I'll get him to call you." The silence continued as Sherlock sat down on the couch, dressing gown following around him as he brought his knees up to his chest.

"Who is it?" He voiced quietly, although John was certain he already knew, but mouthed back a simple _'Mycroft'_ anyway. Sherlock huffed irritably and made a cutting motion with his hand, "Get rid of him."

"Yes well- no Mycroft, now's not really a good time for you to speak to him," Sherlock kept his eyes focussed sternly on John, "No, well he's… delirious still." When it became obvious that John was going to have to speak again, Sherlock grabbed the mobile off of him and ended the call before holding the item back out to the doctor.

"If he calls again don't answer it."

"Yes, easy for you to say," John replied before kneeling down by the sofa and placing the back of his palm to Sherlock's forehead, "You should drink something." Sherlock didn't have time to protest as John left, returning with a glass and ensuring that the Detective had at least four sips.

"You can have some ibuprofen if you want it."

"No just a case, thank you."

"Sorry Sherlock you're ill and I don't have one," John answered, "Unless you want me to invent one."

"That would be nice."

"Well you'd probably find it boring after two minutes."

"Most likely." Sherlock mumbled. John looked away for a moment and found Sherlock to be dozing when he looked back.

* * *

The next morning, the Consulting Detective seemed a lot better, although that many have been from the fact that Lestrade turned up on their door step and asked for their help. Sherlock was more than ecstatic to have a case, however did have to fight against John to let him go out.

In the end, some conditions were set that the younger Holmes brother had to followed in order to be allowed to go.

So that was why, as Sherlock and John stepped out of the taxi, they gained a lot of attention which also involved some people stopping to grab their phones as there were few occasions when such was called for.

So far, Anderson had two: the shock blanket and the more recent ketamine incident. Now he had three.

John carried a bottle of water and Sherlock had a blanket basically wrapped around him, which John monitored closely to ensure he couldn't slip it off when the soldier wasn't looking. Lestrade met them and walked beside them, talking about the crime scene, although it soon became obvious that Sherlock hadn't really been listening to him.

"So any ideas?"

"Three possibly so far," Sherlock answered as the flash from the camera on Anderson's mobile phone went off again, "Make that two. And can somebody stop Anderson taking pictures of this!"

John couldn't help, but laugh slightly as Sherlock turned to him with eyes like pointed daggers, "This is your fault." Lestrade quickly joined in the laughter with John and another flash went off from behind.

And that was the fifth story of how John Watson saved the life of Sherlock Holmes: by saving him from being ill.

* * *

So, the next chapter should be up soon. I'm still taking requests until around the twenty second of January. Thank you for all of the favourites, alerts and reviews and of course for simply reading.


	6. Chapter 5: Freak

Here's chapter five and this is still set after The Blind Banker, but before The Great Game.

Summary: John puts an end to the dreaded greeting of 'freak.'

* * *

"He's saved mine so many times and in so many ways."

* * *

Sherlock wasn't a popular person, a fact which John was fully aware of. The doctor had also noticed that these people fell into three categories: some people came to progressively dislike Sherlock after a period of time, others like himself, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson liked him instantly and the last group were those like Sebastian, Donovan and Anderson who disliked him straight away.

But then there was a fourth category - the category that Mycroft fitted in - those that cared for Sherlock, but didn't seem to particularly like him either. But then the Holmes brothers had a massively strange and complicated relationship that John didn't understand in the slightest.

So people throwing the occasional insult or bad language at the Consulting Detective was far from unusual. John had easily picked up on what actually got to Sherlock though. The 'freak' comment used so commonly by Donovan and Anderson dug somewhere in his friend. Originally, John had believed this insult was confined to just the pair from Scotland Yard, but after meeting Sherlock's old university… friend? – if that was even the right word - and hearing him use it, John was no longer sure as to how confined it was and whether it was the most regular thing for Sherlock to hear.

So John began to monitor the use of the word in the form of a mental tally chart.

* * *

John H Watson could have a very violent temper, but he rarely used it without due cause. Dimmock and Lestrade were working together by the looks of things as they stood at the entrance to the crime scene chatting to Sherlock. John was waiting just a little way away, not wanting to hear for a second time all of Sherlock's criticism's about the Detective Inspectors lack of observational skills.

The Consulting Detective and Doctor were just leaving whenthe event happened. Sally seemed to appear from nowhere every single time she had an insult planned, "Solved it already then freak?" John never missed the reaction of his friend from that one word. Never.

"Yes, it's a shame Scotland Yard can't do the same. You won't make Detective Inspector at this rate Sargent Donovan." Sherlock replied, trying to pretend as though her comment hadn't actually struck a chord like it had. Anderson had joined Sally now and John made sure to note that he seemed to have developed the knack of appearing out of nowhere also.

"You off know then freak? Got off an enough today?" He questioned and Sherlock just sighed slightly and rolled his eyes. John decided that it was time they left and began to walk away.

"Yeah, well we're just going to get a cab aren't we Sherlock," John announced before adding in a quieter tone for Sherlock to hear, "Come on."

"See you on the next one then," Sally called after them, "Let us know which one will have been caused by your freakish nature, because it can't be too far away." John just kept walking, trying to block out the little flinches and twitches (no matter how small,) Sherlock made in reaction to the one word. The army medic desperately wanted to stop, but he knew the moment he stopped, he would end up giving them a piece of his mind.

"Lestrade probably wouldn't have a job anymore if it wasn't for his resident on call freak." Anderson finished and Sherlock instantly stopped walking. His fists clenched and unclenched for a short moment before he spun around and slowly walked back towards Donovan and Anderson.

"So would you too most likely."

"Oh no, we aren't the ones who get on the phone and ask for your assistance," Sally replied, "We never need it."

"I'd rather take my own word with my backed up experience than the word of some psychopathic freak who's trying to seem clever."

"High functioning sociopath. Do your research." Sherlock mumbled, but Anderson didn't seem that bothered to correct his recently passed sentence.

"High functioning freak is more like it." Sally voiced and John was furious at hearing freak for the sixth time in less than five minutes. It was made worse by the fact that both she and Anderson found that a good point to start laughing.

"Come on Sherlock, we're done here." John spoke up, hoping to quell the oncoming storm of a foreseeable argument, placing a hand onto Sherlock's arm in the hope that he could lead him away.

"No, we're not!" Sherlock insisted, shaking John's hand from his arm.

"Listen to your _'colleague'_ freak." Sally mocked ordered, adding the word in inverted brackets which she actioned out with her hands. Lestrade had made his way over now seeing the commotion and stood beside John.

"Come on you two, we've got work to do, leave them alone now." He instructed, hoping it may shift the pair and allow him a moment to talk to his source of help alone. It didn't.

"See I knew I was right. Failed career without the freak around," Anderson started and John was beginning to feel as though he wanted to scream. Lestrade didn't look to be faring much better as he raised a hand to his forehead, but Sherlock was absolutely calm, blank facial expression still held strong.

"Maybe John and Lestrade both take doses of freakin." Another bout of laughing, which just as Lestrade and John were going to put to an end, Sherlock Holmes beat them both to the punch.

"I don't care if you insult me, but you will not insult by _friend _or the best Detective Scotland Yard has," John was thoroughly shocked, Lestrade looked to be in the much the same position as they looked over at each other. The emphasis on friend had been obvious just like Sally's earlier colleague comment, "I'm guessing that was a terrible pun on heroin which I have never taken and neither have either John or Lestrade for your information," Sherlock paused for one second before continuing, "Although I'm really not sure if your tiny sized craniums could even hold that in an hour's time as remembering that fact may cause your brains to burst from the overload."

Both of them looked shocked for a moment. John was shocked too, but Lestrade seemed proud and basking in the light of his given compliment. John supposed he should be proud of being called friend again after his major slip up when he met Sebastian. He hadn't meant to change friend to colleague really, it just happened.

He regretted it, but never found the way to apologise to Sherlock for it, not that the Detective probably would have appreciated that anyway.

"Are you just going to let the freak get away with that?" Sally asked, seemingly in complete shock as she posed the question to her boss, who didn't respond causing her to huff in response.

"You can't speak to us like that!" Anderson shouted as he took a step closer to Sherlock, "Just because you're a complete freak doesn't mean you have any power over us. You're not our boss, you don't even work for Scotland Yard and shouldn't even be here. You are a complete psychopath who I'm sure will murder someone in some interesting way one day and I will be more than glad to see you arrested. It would be great to know that the freak was out of the way for the rest of my life."

Silence fell for a moment after and John noticed Sherlock blinking a few times and you could almost see the cogs turning in his head as he tried to think of something to say in return.

"Are you trying to be clever saying things like that or even more of an idiot than you already are?" Sherlock asked after a moment, but it was wrong: it was so drastically wrong. Sherlock's comebacks were always quick and witty without even a moment of thought being needed.

This was forced. And John just couldn't stand that.

"I don't need to try when it comes to facing a freak like you, because I am not a fr-"

* * *

John H Watson could have a very violent temper, but he rarely used it without due cause. It seemed that today, he had found that he had due cause.

* * *

"If you say freak I will hit you." Eyes suddenly flicked to the doctor and Sally laughed.

"You're a doctor." She announced and Sherlock couldn't help but find that pointless as they were all already completely aware of that fact.

"And a soldier." John corrected, but the Sargent didn't seem to have any interest in learning new things.

"You aren't serious though. Lestrade will have to arrest you if you do that." She stated and once again she was stating the obvious. By now though the beginnings of an audience was forming and even Dimmock had stopped to watch the commotion.

"Precisely, so you have nothing on me," Anderson added after a moment, before steeping as close as he possibly could to Sherlock who remained stock still where he was, "Does he freak? No and he wouldn't get himself arrested for a useless freak like you now would he. Because no one would for a freak like you who-"

* * *

John H Watson could have a very violent temper, but he rarely used it without due cause. It seemed that today, he had found that he had due cause. And now, he acted on it.

* * *

John didn't wait to hear the rest and just lashed out, his fist clocking Anderson on the side of his face, leaving what would be a nasty bruise just under his left eye. Sally gasped and immediately went to help the man while Lestrade remained stood where he was, watching along with the gathered crowd. Sherlock was just looking at John in shock.

"Arrest him then!" Sally shouted out.

"He's just assaulted me!" Anderson added, but Lestrade shook his head, his chance to speak though being cut off by John.

"Shouldn't he be arresting you?" The questioned seemed to shock the pair, "You think its fine to insult someone like you do? If you were talking about anyone else like that, someone would pick you up on it for certain. If it was anyone else you'd be ignored, but because it is someone so much greater than you, you have to find reason for it to be okay to do so."

John just continued when Sally opened her mouth to speak.

"So to make that reason, you get everyone else to believe it. Say it enough, do it enough and no one bats an eyelid. It becomes normal to hear one of you two calling Sherlock _'a freak'_ or _'the freak'_, so no one cares nor attempts to stop you."

"Until now." The finishing comment of John's speech sliced through the air and still Sherlock hadn't moved, possibly not even blinked since the doctor – and soldier - had punched Anderson.

"What?" Anderson questioned as though the entire explanation had been lost on him, although it was obviously in reference to John's final comment.

"That's not-" Sally started only to be cut off.

"Don't say true, because that's exactly what it is." Lestrade interjected, managing to find his voice again now. He ignored the looks shot to him by his two team members.

"You can't go around insulting someone like that, because you don't like them or hold something against them," John explained, "In the space of less than ten minutes, you have collectively called Sherlock a freak sixteen times. I'd say that would pose strong consequences."

"You know if Sherlock reported every time you've ever insulted him like that it could be treated as harassment?" Lestrade questioned, as he followed off of what John was saying. The pair just seemed shocked.

"No they couldn't." Anderson responded, but it was desperate and showed that he knew that to be true.

"It would happen and we easily could," John responded, "But you know Sherlock won't. I don't quite understand why myself, because I definitely wouldn't have stuck it for as long as him, but that only tells you more about him than it does the pair of you." The doctor just started to walk away again.

"Are you coming Sherlock?" He called back and the Detective set his feet moving seconds later as they went to catch a taxi back to Baker Street.

* * *

Lestrade had texted Sherlock thank you for his compliment having not had time to say it in person. John had read the text and remarked that he hadn't imagined Sherlock to say something like that about the man he complained about being unobservant half the time. The Detective mumbled something about help and meeting, but John didn't quite understand.

He'd get Sherlock to explain some other time when his focus didn't seem to be on thinking about something else.

John had learnt from a conversation with Lestrade that Sally had been trying to get Anderson to press charges, however later both of them had thought better of that. John had cooked dinner that evening since he had had the time and felt like venturing into the dreaded kitchen. Sherlock was lounging on the sofa in his dressing gown seemingly deep in thought.

"You going to eat with me tonight then or have I cooked extra for nothing?" John asked curiously as he stood in between the kitchen and living room area, focussing his gaze on his taller flatmate, "Sherlock you should eat something. It's been three days I believe."

Sherlock went to interrupt here, but John made sure to dive back in first.

"I know you've gone without for longer in the past and everything else is transport or whatever, but please you've got time to eat, so why not."

"Why not indeed." Sherlock answered as he stood up and John felt some small ounce of success as they sat down at the table, but the Detective made no move to eat anything once sat there.

"Sherlock?" John questioned after a moment, now completely curious.

"Why did you do that earlier?" He asked, "You really didn't have to it wasn't your problem."

"No, but it bothered you."

"Still that doesn't explain why. Don't people usually avoid getting involved in things that have nothing to do with them?" John sighed as he realised another lesson in human nature was probably called for now, "So why did you?"

John thought carefully for a moment before he found the right words, "Why not?"

* * *

The next time the pair were called to Scotland Yard was two days later when Lestrade had called them in to look at some photos. Anderson and Donovan were nowhere to be seen until just as the pair were leaving.

The bruise on Anderson's face was easily noticeable and according to Lestrade had raised quite a few eyebrows and sparked off a couple of rumours already. Neither of them made a single remark.

* * *

That night, Lestrade invited them to the pub and although Sherlock had been against going completely, John had dragged him along for at least an hour.

"Oh look f-" Donovan started as she noticed the pair had joined them. Anderson was smiling, but that suddenly feel and Sally's speech stopped.

"I think I need another drink." Phillip announced and Sally suddenly made to follow him.

"Good point, me too." Once the pair had left, Lestrade smiled.

"You've scared them now." He explained with a smile as he took a sip of his pint.

"They deserved it." John answered simply, returning the smile.

"I still don't understand why you did it." Sherlock announced and the smiles of his two friends increased tenfold.

And that was the sixth story of how John Watson saved the life of Sherlock Holmes: by saving him from being called a freak.

* * *

Okay, so the next chapter should be up by Monday at the latest. Thank you for reviewing, favouriting, alerting and reading it all means a lot to me.


	7. Chapter 6: Smoke inhalation

This is still set after The Blind Banker and before The Great Game. Sorry this is late, life got in the way.

Summary: John really wished that Lestrade could have endless cases for Sherlock sometimes. One of Sherlock's experiments becomes just a little bit dangerous.

* * *

Since moving in with Sherlock, John had accepted that he was the one responsible for the shopping, although it was now made easier by the fact that Sherlock had transferred a rather large proportion of the money Sebastian had paid them into the doctor's bank account. Which meant that as his card was no longer rejected, he could have one less row with the machine.

That made his life a lot easier.

What didn't however, was when Lestrade lacked in cases for Sherlock to help out with and also when the medic himself was out of the flat.

Like today.

Mrs Hudson had reassured him that there was only so much damage Sherlock could cause and insisted he still have some form of life outside of his main friendship, so John did attempt to do that. But it didn't stop him - as Mycroft so eloquently puts it - worrying about Sherlock, constantly.

When he'd left the flat to go shopping and noticed Sherlock fiddling around in the kitchen, he left with a simple warning of, _"Don't damage anything,"_ and _"be careful."_

Apparently though, that wasn't enough. For upon his return after shutting the front door, he noticed the beeping noise coming from upstairs, obviously at the same time as Mrs Hudson as she poked her head round her door and into the hallway looking at John curiously.

It took John a moment to realise what they owned in two hundred and twenty-one B Baker Street that would beep quite like that. The sudden realisation could have hit him like a bucket of cold water to the face. You didn't have to be Sherlock to recognise the smell of burning smoke and a smoke alarm. Mrs Hudson seemed to recognise it at the same time with a shocked 'oh dear' as she headed back into her flat, presumably to ring the fire service.

"Sherlock!"

* * *

Surprisingly the journey up the stairs seemed to take seconds as the soldier bounded up them and pushed open the door to the kitchen. Smoke immediately covered his vision and John mentally slapped himself for doing the Sherlock thing and rushing in without fully thinking things through first.

"Sherlock!" He called again, hoping he would get a reply, "Where are you? Sherlock?" He was glad to notice some form of movement, which he assumed was the Consulting Detective: at least he certainly hoped it was.

John made his way over towards the wall, glad when he saw Sherlock was awake, even though he was coughing.

Smoke inhalation was the most likely cause.

"Come on," The doctor ordered as he grabbed his taller companion and started to move back to the door. The beeping of the smoke alarm was incessantly loud and blared into both of their ears, although John was filtering it out as he focussed on keeping Sherlock as safe and well as was possible.

Sirens were mixing with the beeping now as John tried to help Sherlock and the Detectives long limbs quickly and safely down the stairs. Mrs Hudson was stood by the door and John couldn't help but think that she would have come upstairs herself apart from the fact that she knew Sherlock would shoot her down for it before changing to a massive thank you for the action on his behalf anyway.

He was like that when it came to Mrs Hudson.

The older woman opened the door and hurried the pair of them out to the cool outside of Baker Street as fire engines rounded the corner.

Carefully sitting Sherlock down on the pavement, John removed the Consulting Detectives arm from around his shoulder and knelt in front of his younger friend.

"Sherlock? Can you hear me?"

"Stop spinning." Sherlock mumbled and John couldn't help but wonder how long his friend had been in the flat as the fire crew made their way towards them. The doctor just pointed upstairs and they left. Mrs Hudson waited by John's side.

"Sherlock, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Um, three?"

"Two Sherlock, two."

"Right." At this Sherlock moved forwards only to move back again with a muffled, sharp cry of pain that didn't go a miss by John, who instantly held onto the Detectives shoulders to try and keep him still.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock posed him no answer and John wished for once that the other could stop being so, well Sherlock, "Tell me!" He insisted when he was still given no answer.

"Stomach." The other told him a moment later and John – able to see no noticeable injury to the area - took that as certainty of his theory.

"Smoke inhalation," He mumbled, "Sherlock you need to stay awake. How long were you in there for?"

"A minute, maybe two." The youngest Holmes brother replied with a contorted look of painful thinking crossing his face.

"No longer?" John questioned just to confirm.

"No longer."

"Okay, stomach pain on a scale of one to ten, honestly?"

"Um, four?"

"You aren't supposed to give me a question Sherlock," John replied slightly exasperated, "A definite answer would be good."

"Three, possibly four." Sherlock answered, sounding more confident with this answer and the questioning tone had fled from his voice.

"Are you sure, because you said four a moment ago."

"Yes John I'm sure," When John made no move, Sherlock continue, "Can you let me get up?"

"No, you need to stay sat down you could pass out at any minute."

"Of for god sake John, I'm awake, I'm perfectly fine. Do you need me to prove it to you?"

"Oh, no, no, Sherlock-" John started, but he was quickly cut off as the Consulting Detective spotted someone to start deducing. John just put his head into his hands.

* * *

The damage to the flat hadn't been too major, so they were allowed back into the flat once the firefighters had cleared it. John couldn't believe that Sherlock had managed to set the flat on fire through an experiment and was thoroughly glad that it hadn't been worse.

"You are so lucky I came home." John told him.

"I would have been fine." Sherlock replied simply before he started typing again on John's laptop.

"Of course you would have." The doctor made no comment regarding the technological device.

It was only when John went to leave the room for bed that two words left Sherlock's mouth after an evening of silence, "Thank you."

And that was the seventh story of how John Watson saved the life of Sherlock Holmes: by saving him from smoke inhalation.

* * *

Okay, sorry this is late once again. On the plus side, well done to Benedict for his National Television Award of best TV Detective! :) I hope to have the next chapter up by Friday or Saturday. Thank you for all of the alerts, favourites and reviews as well as reading.


	8. Chapter 7: Being beaten up

I'm sorry this is late again. People seem determined lately to stop me from writing these chapters, but there is no way I'm giving up writing Sherlock fanfiction so have no fear. Any way here is the next chapter, thank you for all the reviews on the last one too.

* * *

John constantly told Sherlock to watch what he said at times. Sherlock could say a few things at a crime scene that were a little - or sometimes a lot -not good and the doctor could always be trusted to point these things out to him.

Sometimes though, he wasn't quick enough to correct the Consulting Detective.

Sherlock had gone out that evening and John was doing nothing except watching the boring array of TV as he sat up in wait for his friend. The younger had told him constantly he didn't need to stay awake until he returned, but John was insistent that he didn't mind.

For once, that would turn out to be a good thing.

* * *

John was tired when his phone beeped and revealed a message from the youngest Holmes. He pulled his hand over his tired eyes and blinked a few times before picking up the device and opening the message.

Luigi's, come as soon as possible SH

With a small sigh, John heaved himself out of his chair and grabbed his jacket, wondering what case his flatmate had managed to find himself now so shortly after he finished one just after midnight. The doctor was still tired from the short amount of sleep he had today, even though Sherlock had let him lay in for once without the pressing need to go anywhere. The violin was what woke him up though.

Sherlock had resorted to playing it more than usual as John and Mrs Hudson had put a - nearly now expired - two week ban on the home experiments.

Ever loyal though moments later 221B was empty and John had dutifully gone to meet his friend at the restaurant in which had opened the beginning of that relationship.

* * *

The streets were relatively empty with only the odd few walking them, but inside restaurants were full of people. At half ten, Sherlock had been out now for nearing four hours and as John walked alone, he began to think that maybe that should have been a sign to him to try and find his companion.

So it came as little surprise when he entered Luigi's to find Sherlock sat down with one of the staff (Billy, John believed Sherlock had called him a few times,) trying his best to tend to a cut on the Detective's forehead. John made his way over just as Luigi placed a glass of water onto the table.

"Ah John, you got my text." Sherlock commented as the doctor briefly acknowledged the waiter before he left.

"Of course I did, because I'm here, although I think I should be developing a sixth sense by now living with you," Sherlock gave a small raised eyebrow look as John looked between him and the restaurant owner, "What happened?"

"I don't know," Luigi started, "Sherlock walked in about four-"

"Three." Sherlock corrected, but Luigi continued over him without a break.

"Minutes ago in this state." After thanking the man, Luigi left and John switched his focus to Sherlock who - true to explanation - did look a complete state. With a sigh, John picked up a napkin and started to attend to the cut on Sherlock's forehead, not missing how he pulled backwards at points.

"Stop moving," John order calmly as he continued trying to stop and clear the blood that followed from the cut, so that he could see how deep it was, "What happened?"

"I went to see someone." Sherlock answered plainly before hissing as John moved the napkin across his forehead, despite how careful he was being.

"Sorry but you moved," The doctor explained, apologising even though he wasn't the one at fault: like usual, "And I know that. Homeless network you said."

"Hmm." Sherlock answered.

"It would be helpful if I could have some more details than hmm Sherlock. Like what caused these injuries perhaps."

"I ran into the Smith brothers on the way home." John processed the name for a moment, his mind quickly making the link.

"The two brothers from that broken window case?" He asked curiously, "The case that you said the girlfriend was the culprit of?"

"Yes John, keep up," The elder considered replying with a simple _'I am,'_ but instead decided on allowing Sherlock to continue with the tale, "They weren't very happy with her sentence for it or what I said to them at the scene."

"So they came after you and beat you up for it," Sherlock nodded before yelping out in pain again, "You moved Sherlock! I can see why for the crime scene though, you were out of order."

"I was being truthful!" Sherlock insisted.

"You insulted their dead relative, revealed everything about their relationship including their sex life, disrespected all of them and finally outted the girlfriend as the murdered of their Uncle."

"I just spoke what I observed."

"Of course you did you idiot," John replied, the Consulting Detective just rolling his eyes, "What did they hit you with to do this?" The soldier asked in reference to the relatively deep cut on Sherlock's forehead.

"Something metal." John looked instantly alarmed at this.

"Did you lose consciousness?"

"No, I came here. I didn't want to walk home and risk getting too much blood falling into my eyes," John just looked at him questioningly, "It was bleeding a lot heavier before you got here."

"I wished you'd told me you were hurt. I would have brought stuff with me," The doctor stood a moment later and motioned for Sherlock to also, "Hold this against your forehead. We'll walk home and I'll sort the rest there."

The walk to Baker Street was relatively silent and the warmth of the flat was well appreciated by John. Sherlock shed his coat and sat down on the sofa. Mrs Hudson seemed to have woken up from their arrival home and brought them up tea and biscuits which Sherlock (surprisingly,) thanked her for before sending her back downstairs, insisting that she didn't worry about his minor cuts and bruises.

Apart from the small, but deep gash to his forehead - which John had to stitch – he had a cut across his bottom lip and a few bruises, luckily though nothing that was too serious for John to fix at the flat.

"So can you try and improve this insulting at crime scene thing at the least? I think I can handle the not good moments, but I don't want this becoming a regular occurrence ideally." Sherlock gave John no answer.

"Sherlock?"

"Sorry, what did you say?" Sherlock asked as he shook his head slightly, "I was filtering."

"It doesn't matter. I'm going to bed." The doctor informed the detective as he left the room. Sherlock's violin could be heard only twenty minutes later, telling John that the detective had no intention of sleeping that night, at least not for more than an hour at the most.

* * *

It was a few weeks later when Sherlock managed to insult someone after a young boy's mother had been kidnapped and he rudely proclaimed to the dad that it wasn't a kidnapping, but rather a running of with someone else made to look like one.

The next couple of nights afterwards though saw Sherlock stuck in 221B where John could see him. Although that did involve John in meeting a few members of the homeless network and having to put up with a multiple range of experiments as Sherlock utterly refused to do a relatively normal thing that people did of an evening and watch the television.

It was worth it though to avoid a repeat of having to stitch up Sherlock's forehead.

And that was the eighth story of how John Watson saved the life of Sherlock Holmes: by saving him from being beaten up.

* * *

Okay, so the next chapter should be up by Wednesday. Thank you for alerting, favouriting, reviewing and of course for reading. I'm glad that you're enjoying this story so far.


	9. Chapter 8: Pulled muscle

So I'm sorry this is late, school work is taking over my life, so I think my updates will become once every week now (more if I can get the time,) but I will keep writing – you can have no worry that I will abandon this. Also I have a request from Shiary which will be up in one of the next chapters. If anyone else wishes to request anything then please feel free.

This is still set after The Blind Banker, but before the Great Game.

* * *

"He's saved mine so many times and in so many ways."

* * *

Sherlock had a knack of getting into troublesome situations a fact John knew well. Most were not always caused by him, although there would always be one account that the medic remembered as Sherlock's.

He'd just gotten dressed after a shower when he heard the echoing thud sound, followed by some unrecognisable words. Either way, John's attention was piqued and so he rushed down the stairs from his room and entered into the kitchen, glancing around for Sherlock and being thoroughly surprised to find a lack of his presence in the room.

"Sherlock?" He called, hoping it would reveal the Detectives location to him, "Where are you?"

"Stairs." A voice answered and although it was Sherlock's, John found it lacking in something of its usual muster.

"What are you doing? What was that thud as well? I thought-" The soldier was going to say blown something up, but seeing Sherlock leaning against the wall, long legs sprawled out across the stairs, he cut himself off, "What have you done?"

"I fell." Sherlock answered simply.

"Jesus, Sherlock!" The elder exclaimed as he moved down the stairs and stepped over the Detective's legs, kneeling on the step below him, "What hurts? Honestly." John only added that as a precaution to get his friend to tell the truth

It took a moment of pressing silence, but the Consulting Detective did give a reply, "My leg. Left."

"What did you do?" John asked, repeating his earlier question.

"I was testing how quickly-" Sherlock cut himself off with a groan that was holding back a cry of pain before insisting to John a simple, "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. How the hell did you manage to fall down the stairs?"

"I don't know John, why don't you ask the stairs." The Consulting Detective replied in the way that only he could when he chose to use sarcasm to the best of his ability: sarcasm which went completely unrivalled.

"Sherlock, I'm being serious." The doctor replied as he focussed on concentrating on a way to get Sherlock back up to the flat. That was the easy part. The hard part was actually managing to get Sherlock up onto his feet again and climb the six or so stairs. John was glad when he thought about it that Mrs Hudson had gone out to visit someone and hadn't been subjected to hearing Sherlock clunk down the stairs.

It seemed like an eternity before the pair reached the living room space of 221B with Sherlock's arm around John's shoulders, using the soldier to balance on. John sat Sherlock in his usual arm chair before trying to identify the main source of Sherlock's problem.

"It's not broken." Sherlock's voice cut through the silence a moment later and John looked up at him with a pointed look.

"I'm the doctor, so I'll be the judge of that," Sherlock counted the seconds before John spoke again, "It's not broken."

"I told you that a minute and ten seconds ago."

"You can't walk on it though." John reminded him to which Sherlock gave a small shake of his head, a sigh and disapproving glance.

"Of course I can, don't be so ridiculous John."

"Well you couldn't get back up the stairs without my help. What if I hadn't been here?"

"Then I'd have managed." The doctor knew he should have seen it coming, but was a little too late to stop Sherlock from rising out of the chair and stepping past him. He survived two steps.

Luckily, John's armchair was aptly placed for the taller man to be able to grab a hold of and stop himself from descending to the floor.

"Told you." It was childish, but John couldn't resist the temptation to point out that he had proven Sherlock Holmes to be wrong.

"Alright Doctor," Sherlock replied as he sat down in the armchair, "You've made your point, just fix it."

The elder chose to ignore the bad manners, "I can't just instantly make you be able to walk again."

"Well why not?" Sherlock asked as though it would be the simplest thing in the world for a doctor of John's calibre to do.

"Because it doesn't work that way." The other replied before searching for where he had left his mobile.

"Jacket pocket." Sherlock declared and the item was back in the doctors hands and how the Detective had known what John was looking for, remained - as ever - a mystery.

"I'll be back in a moment." John informed Sherlock as he left the room, texting as he did so.

"What are you doing now?" Sherlock bellowed when John had been out of the room for about two minutes, loud enough to hurt the doctors eardrums as he returned.

"Having my eardrums damaged," John answered, causing Sherlock to turn his head in realisation that the doctor had returned and although no apology was given verbally, a motion of the head seemed to convey it to John easily enough, "You need to stay there and not move."

"Why? I thought you were going to fix my leg?"

"I am," John answered as he sat down in Sherlock's armchair, just across from his younger flatmate, "I reckon you've pulled or torn your calf muscle."

"So who were you texting?" Sherlock questioned. John just smiled.

"You're the expert, you tell me."

* * *

John had the task of finding ways to keep Sherlock occupied and make sure he remained in the armchair for the day. Frequently, he had to tell Sherlock off for attempting to pull his legs up or get up to do an experiment of some kind.

The only time he took his eyes off of him was to greet Mike at the door who had kindly come over after he finished his shift, answering John's text with polite agreement.

"Here," John said as he entered the flat and showed the crutches to Sherlock, "Do you want some painkillers?"

"Morphine would be good."

"No chance." John replied and held the crutches out to Sherlock, who refused to take them.

"Put them in my bedroom."

"But-" Mrs Hudson had returned by now and made her way upstairs to inform John that the pair had a visitor, her tone hinting to Sherlock exactly who it was.

"Forget the painkillers, put those in my bedroom and act as though nothing has happened." He ordered quickly as Mrs Hudson disappeared back down stairs.

"What?" John questioned curiously.

"Now John." The doctor did as he was told and by the time he returned, Mrs Hudson was stood at the door to the living room with a man stood beside her.

Sherlock didn't look at all pleased to see Mycroft make his way into the flat.

"What do you want?" The younger Holmes asked, pointedly ignoring his brother's presence afterwards.

"I was just passing by," The elder replied, looking at his younger brother, "What have you done now then?

"Nothing," Sherlock answered before looking towards Mrs Hudson, "Could you show Mycroft out please Mrs Hudson."

"You're not busy." The elder brother declared, not moving towards the door as Sherlock had hoped.

"Yes I am," Sherlock bit back, "I'm on a case aren't I John?" Mycroft looked over at John with the speed of a cheetah and the doctor felt the elder Holmes eyes digging into him before he answered.

"Yes he is."

"Really?" The elder brother now looked over in Sherlock's direction who just looked pointedly back.

"Yes, it requires thinking."

"No." Mycroft answered simply, dragging out the syllables and staring at John along with Sherlock, who was giving John his 'Go with it look.'

"No he really is…" John trailed off as Mycroft's stare seemed to increase, "Okay he's not."

"John!"

"What was I meant say?" Sherlock just sighed and looked towards his skull on the mantel piece over fire place.

"British government." The Detective mumbled as Mrs Hudson left to return to her flat and Mycroft sat himself down on the sofa, placing his umbrella to rest beside it.

"Sherlock." The elder brother chastised as John sat down. It didn't take a genius to realise that Mycroft had figured out the strange switch of chairs between the pair.

* * *

By the time Mycroft left, he had figured out about Sherlock's injury. He'd tried everything he could to get Sherlock up on his feet and the pair had shared quick looks with each other before John would move to complete whatever the elder Holmes had asked. Eventually though, he had caught Sherlock when he noticed one of Lestrade's ID's which Sherlock had pick pocketed one day.

John had to go to work a few days later and couldn't keep an eye on Sherlock at the same time. Knowing Sherlock's reluctance for Mycroft to be in charge of him for the day, the doctor turned to Lestrade for help and left Sherlock at Scotland Yard.

Anderson found it rather amusing that Sherlock was on crutches for falling down the stairs, but he soon shut up when Sherlock shared his sex life with the entire department. As for Sherlock, he enjoyed spending the day sat in Lestrade's office, reading through cold cases and attempting to solve as many of them as possible.

Although when John returned, Lestrade found he had lost Sherlock and that he was nowhere in the building, however the crutches were still in Lestrade's office. They found him just down the road rather quickly due to his slow pace and the fact that Sherlock was reliant on holding onto the wall to keep himself stood up.

"What the hell are you doing now?" John asked as he and Lestrade caught up with him.

"Finding a killer."

"No, we're going home," John ordered, but Sherlock kept walking, so realising he needed a bargaining chip, John changed tactics, "I get you stronger painkillers."

"No need, already sorted that."

"What?" Lestrade questioned, "How did you- what did you take?"

"Morphine." Sherlock answered.

John thought for a moment as the Detective kept walking, "Home or I'm calling Mycroft." Sherlock instantly stopped walking and leaned his back against the wall.

"Can I walk?" John just shook his head and held out the crutches.

"I will call Mycroft!" It only took seconds for Sherlock to take the item from John's grasp. Lestrade could only smile as he ordered the pair a taxi.

And that was the eighth story of how John Watson saved the life of Sherlock Holmes: by saving him from a pulled muscle.

* * *

The next one will be a lot more action/saving involved than his one, but I just had to write this. Anyway thank you for reviewing , favouriting, alerting and reading.


	10. Chapter 9: Stangulation

I hope you like this chapter, I'll be writing one for Shiary next.

This is still set after The Blind Banker, but before the Great Game.

* * *

"He's saved mine so many times and in so many ways."

* * *

Lestrade had dragged them into the building. Sherlock had been perfectly fine to wait outside and go after the guy when he - as Sherlock had deduced - ran out in an attempt to escape capture.

But Lestrade had thought having the help of their Consulting Detective inside the apartment would be more useful.

"He's not in here!" Lestrade exclaimed as they searched the flat.

"He must be." Sally insisted before she noticed John looking out of the open window.

"He must have left," The doctor stated before turning to Sherlock, "Could someone have jumped out of this window Sherlock?" The Consulting Detective made his way over to join the doctor and Detective Inspector.

John could Sherlock's eyes scouting the area and quickly interjected, "Our criminal Sherlock, not an acrobat."

"Then it's unlikely he'd get out of there without breaking a limb, unless he made it onto that metal platform thing."

"So he must have done that then," Lestrade repeated before throwing his hands to the side in an exasperated movement, "Right let's head back to the Yard and see if we can find any lose ends."

As everyone started heading out, John looked to Sherlock whose attention had been caught by something on the other side of the room, "You were wrong about the running out of the front door thing then."

"Hmm." Was Sherlock's only reply and John assumed him to be stuck in his thoughts.

"Well come on then, Lestrade's sending us all out. At least the ex-girlfriend he was looking for wasn't in here or we would have found a body." John turned and headed towards the door, but Sherlock made no move to follow. The doctor had however expected this and while continuing to walk just called back, "Sherlock, come on!"

Doctor John Watson left the flat, not noticing Sherlock's lack of movement to follow him.

* * *

Lestrade and his team had started to walk down the corridor when John exited the flat and witnessed Anderson being told that there was no body and no criminal. It didn't take John long to catch up.

"Can Sherlock and I be of any help?"

"Yeah if Sherlock thinks he can find the next girlfriend in the list or the current location of this one. Other than that we have nothing to go on anymore."

"I'm sure Sherlock could figure that out," John replied, "After all, he is... Well he's Sherlock isn't he."

"He is," Lestrade agreed before looking around for the tall detective, "Where is he anyway?"

"He was supposed to be following me out," John answered before looking back towards the flat. He could see Lestrade forming an answer and so spoke first, "I'll go and get him, even if I have to drag him out by the collar of that beloved coat."

"Fr- Sherlock's still in there?" Anderson asked, choosing his words carefully upon noticing Doctor Watson.

"Yes, I'm just going to get him." John replied.

"We need to hurry up," Sally called as she made her way back down the hallway, "We're wasting time."

"Yes I know, hang on a second Donovan and we'll-" Lestrade was interrupted by a strangled sounding cry relating to that of a cat, "What the he'll was that?"

"A cat? Let's go." Donovan replied, emphasising the point that she wanted to leave, but John seemed to have heard the sound again and shook his head.

"No, that's not a cat. That was my name. Something's wrong." The army doctor was off back down the hallway a second later towards the apartment, Lestrade following after a moment, leaving both Donovan and Anderson stood in confusion. Although they two headed back to the apartment after a minute when the Doctor and Detective didn't come back out.

* * *

Sherlock's attention had been caught by the edge of the curtain, which he had been certain had moved, although a quick check confirmed the opposite window to be the only one open. From looking around the flat, he quickly gathered that the girl who lived here liked order. Everything was in order, in a specific place and yet that one curtain looked completely different to the rest of the ordered space.

The Consulting Detective was surprised he hadn't noticed it sooner, not however by the fact that no one else had.

As he headed across the room, the distinctive rustling of the curtain was obvious and he briefly considered calling someone else or walking away again, but Sherlock Holmes wasn't one for backing down.

He was stubborn and persistent, especially when on a case and liked to get things sorted out. So no, he didn't back off or call anyone else, because he simply wasn't like that.

So he did what only he could. Carefully, but in one swift motion he pulled the curtain across the rail to reveal the boyfriend or ex in some cases, (named Lance Ratter) of the girls being murdered. It took seconds for hands to be clasped around his neck and the air being taken from his lungs with violent force.

Honestly, Sherlock had believed he was just going to run out of the apartment and not risk being caught as he had done with the other murders, but then he had been waiting here, he'd seen the police arrive, tried to fake his leaving of the flat to throw them off course - this he had figured out only by looking out of the window - but no, the younger Holmes brother had noticed too late as he extended his hands towards his throat.

The one thing Sherlock did manage to do in the brief moment was call for John.

* * *

As the doctor entered the flat again, the thought that something was wrong couldn't be pushed from his mind. This feeling was proven correct when John saw Sherlock pushed against the wall, their suspects hands encased solidly around his throat. The Consulting Detective seemed to catch John's eye the minute he entered his view.

Lestrade followed a moment later and stopped when John put an arm out in front of him.

"Let him go." John insisted.

"So you can arrest me?" Lance asked, "I think not."

"Just…" John trailed off for a moment, unsure as to what to say, "Just let him go and we can make a deal." Here the doctor looked over to Lestrade, motioning for him to say something to make what he was saying hold some value.

"Yes we can do that." The Detective Inspector stated simply and John could see Sherlock roll his eyes – well as best as one could when being strangled. It took another moment before anyone spoke.

"No, no you won't."

"We will." Lestrade pressed, sensing that he was in the best position to be striking deals of confidence. Although he definitely wasn't believed as the grip around Sherlock's throat increased to the point of him actually being completely cut off from the air in the room.

John had jumped on the attacker in seconds and Lestrade was at no possible speed or power to stop the soldier's movements and quickly lost some control of the situation. It took the doctor only a short moment to pry Lance's hands off and push him towards Lestrade, who made a quick move to arrest him.

Sherlock by now, had slid down the wall, a hand having instantly risen to his throat and John moved to be knelt in front of him, "Sherlock, look at me." John instructed as he tried to move the others hand.

"Just breathe, you'll be alright in a moment," John tried as he moved Sherlock's hand himself to look at the hand marks on his friends neck which were becoming deeper ingrained with every passing second.

Sherlock's breathing was deep as he and John exited the flat. Sally and Phillip looked on in curiosity, but said nothing especially after their criminal had just been caught through Sherlock's persistent actions. So when they noticed the hand he was moving over his throat, they made no comment.

When Sherlock gave some instructions to Lestrade minutes later (against John's advice of to try and resist talking,) his voice was croaky and strained sounding on some occasions and in the end he was dragged away by John to a waiting taxi and forced to head back to Baker Street.

Mrs Hudson seemed glad to have the chance to fuss over Sherlock's health again and John was glad that she had an interest in helping him as it made his job just ever so slightly easier to complete and manage.

* * *

When morning arose, John was thoroughly glad that Sherlock was still alive and didn't seem to be suffering from any more than the odd points of struggle when talking and having the bruise marks on his neck.

"Hey, where are you going?" John asked as Sherlock grabbed his coat and headed towards the door, "You have to stay in today remember?"

"I'll be one hour." Sherlock replied, completely ignoring the second question.

"No, you'll be staying here like we agreed. You were almost strangled yesterday and there could always be complications with those sorts of things."

"That was yesterday, I'm fine now."

"You'll be a nightmare to look after if you ever get shot." John replied, his tone of voice remaining so deadly monotonous that you could tell he was being one hundred percent serious on the matter.

"Do you want to test that theory?" Sherlock questioned, deliberately trying to grate on John's nerves in order to try and be allowed out.

"Well if I'm ever tempted I have a licenced gun thanks to Mycroft."

"Hmm," Was the Detective's only reply before it seemed to have been thought over in his mind, "Wait when did this happen?"

"Weeks ago," Sherlock still looked completely confused, "After you were drugged with ketamine." John answered.

"I need to have chat with Mycroft about going behind my back again then," A moment later though he was shrugging his coat on, "Goodbye John."

"Oh no, no, you aren't going anywhere unless you want to come shopping with me." It took a moment, but after a minute of being stood at the top of the stairs, Sherlock pulled his coat back off and sat down on the sofa.

"Could you pass me that book?" John ignored the lack of please and passed Sherlock the item, thoroughly glad that he didn't need to call Mycroft for this. But then after thinking, he actually did need to go shopping.

And that was the tenth story of how John Watson saved the life of Sherlock Holmes: by saving him from being strangled.

* * *

I have nothing to say for this one. Thank you for reviewing , favouriting, alerting and reading.


	11. Chapter 10: Poisoned

It's official, I hate my Internet providers! They rescheduled work from the week coming to our half term week without telling us, which has resulted in the lack of chapter and also made research for this slightly more difficult than it needed to be. So I am sorry for this delay. Anyway this is set after The Great Game and beginning of A Scandal in Belgravia - basically after they've escaped Moriarty and his snipers.

Also this is for Shiary who requested: Sherlock being poisoned by a criminal. Hopefully, this will be able to live up to what you wanted.

* * *

"He's saved mine so many times and in so many ways."

* * *

After the whole pool incident with Moriarty, Lestrade suggested the pair took a week off something which Sherlock was deeply upset about and John had needed to hide is gun again in order to save the wall from taking another pounding. It was day five when John thought he was going to lose it.

"John," The doctor just ignored the Consulting Detective as he read his newspaper, "John?"

"What is it now Sherlock?" He asked, realising Sherlock wouldn't be shutting up anytime soon, "You're not having my gun if that's what you were planning to ask."

"No," Sherlock stated, his tone completely flat, "I've been poisoned."

"What?" John questioned, shocked as he lowered his newspaper and looked over at his friend.

"Well I think I have anyway." The younger continued as though John hadn't actually spoken to him.

"What makes you think that?

"I need to see Molly." Sherlock told him flatly as he stood up and grabbed his coat.

"I'm guessing you want me to come with you." John said as he started to follow.

"Of course, I may need a doctor." The soldier could only think that Sherlock had heard him, but simply chosen not to speak to him as they left Baker Street.

* * *

"How long has it been since you ate something?" John asked as they walked the halls of the hospital.

"A week?" Sherlock replied, but his answer seemed more like he was asking John if he remembered. Although in all truth, the Detective was most likely right.

"Do you think it could just be that then? Hunger?"

"When have you ever known me to be hungry?"

"Okay, I'm only trying to help."

"Then you could start by opening the door." Sherlock answered.

"Open it yourself."

"I can't." The taller of the pair mumbled so quietly that John almost didn't hear anything and it looked as though the other had opened his mouth to say nothing at all.

"What? Sorry, I don't think I heard that."

"Yes you did. Just open the door, please John."

* * *

"Molly asked if you wanted coffee. I told her no." John announced as he made his way over to a hard working Sherlock - still in the same position he had been sat in for about an hour, trying to work out what he could possibly have been used to poison him.

"Good, because I've narrowed it down to-" Sherlock abruptly stopped speaking mid sentence and it took John a moment to realise this wasn't one of his 'Oh I've realised something you haven't' moments and actually something else.

"Sherlock?" John questioned, "Sherlock, are you alright?" Molly chose that moment to enter the room and placed a cup of coffee down for John.

"I just wondered..." She trailed off when she noticed Sherlock's frozen state, "Is he alright?"

"I'm not sure," John told her before hearing a simple 'okay' as she left, presumably to be out of the way, "Sherlock? Answer me Sherlock."

It was almost as though time had been frozen, because moments later the Detective seemed to be thrown back into life with a jolting move forward, "Paralysis."

"Meaning?" John questioned.

"'Meaning the loss of the ability to move or sometimes feel anything in part or most of the body, typically as a result of illness, poison or injury. You're a doctor John really-"

"No, no I didn't mean the word I meant in reference to your work."

"Oh, narrows it down to three."

"Brilliant," The doctor replied sarcastically, "It could happen again though couldn't it." John made it a statement, because he knew he was right. Sherlock only nodded.

* * *

John kept a close eye on his companion while he worked and made sure there was nothing Sherlock could hurt himself in if he became paralysed again. It was about half an hour before John noticed Sherlock's breathing change to be more laboured and scratchy.

"Do you know what it is yet then?"

"No." Sherlock replied bluntly, his voice seeming faint from his lack of breath, a factor which worried John especially considering the Detective was sat down.

The silence after that was heavy.

Molly had returned at one point and Sherlock had kindly coerced her into submitting a test for him which he declared to John would 'give the final result.' During that waiting time, the Consulting Detective continued his work, requiring John for part of it to act as Sherlock's left arm when he lost the ability to use to. Luckily, the paralysis spell was short and wore off after about five minutes, allowing the doctor to return to his loitering around the lab as he waited for Sherlock's miraculous discovery.

"I don't understand one thing though," John commented and Sherlock made a 'hmm' sound which hinted to John had been acknowledged and speaking and was allowed to continue on, "How did the poison get into your system? You can't suspect Moriarty can you? I mean you never actually came into any contact with him and he can't have done it through me, because then I'd be affected too and I'm fine."

"It has to be him." Sherlock answered firmly, continuing with his belief of never being wrong and (to give him his due where it's deserved) he rarely was.

"Well it can't have been," The doctor stated just as strongly, "If you think about it logically as you like to the-"

"Golem," Sherlock interrupted and John turned to look at him suddenly with a shocked expression. At his lack of response, Sherlock continued, "You remember John the-"

"I remember Sherlock, but you think..." John trailed off, "I thought he strangled people anyway?"

"Maybe Moriarty thought we'd survive and so wanted to have another way to get rid of me or it could be another game..." Sherlock continued voicing thoughts that seemed irrelevant to John, "Yes another game that's the answer."

"Well this isn't a very nice game to be playing, let alone lose."

"I won't lose, John, why do you think I'll lose?"

"This is your life your playing with Sherlock!" John answered, raised tone of voice, flying hands, anger seeping from his facial features as he stared the Detective down, "Don't you think that's too high a price?" The other did seem to chew over this in his mind for a moment before going to speak. He didn't get to though.

"No, you are not about to give me an argument for why it isn't. It's not like Moriaty's playing for his. Oh no, good old Jim's going to be fine and Sherlock's going to be dead, well isn't that a fair deal," Sherlock tried once again to interject and was successfully blocked by the Doctor's continuing onslaught of words, "This is a fools game Sherlock and one you shouldn't be playing if you want to..."

"What's wrong?" John asked, finally noticing the state of the taller, who was resting his hands on the desk in front of him and leaning over, "Sherlock?" The doctor asked as he placed a hand onto the other's back. It was at that moment that Mike chose to walk in and announced his presence with a cheery hello. John gave him a short response of hello back.

"Talk to me, Sherlock." He insisted as he felt and saw the Detective's chest heave with effort.

"Can't..." The words alone seemed to be strained and pulled out with every ounce of remaining strength, "Can't breathe-" Sherlock said no more as he literally dropped like a stone.

* * *

John wasn't sure who had reacted first. Mike had left the room and then returned with a small team of doctors who took Sherlock from John's care in the lab and to a hospital room. Stamford bought coffee for the pair of them and had a quick chat with one of the doctors before heading down the hallway with John, the intention being to call Mycroft and Mrs Hudson to inform them.

"How's Sherlock?" John asked Mike as they walked through the corridors.

"Hypovolemic shock." The other replied simply as Molly walked past and handed John a piece of paper.

"It's the results of the tests Sherlock was doing," She explained, "I thought you could give them to him when he's better."

"Oh, thank you Molly." John answered before looking at the paper as Molly walked off. He'd been expecting not to understand some of it.

Mike continued as they walked on again, John still reading the sheet in front of him, "They're giving him Dopamine and planning on keeping him overnight until their certain he's better or they have a cause f-"

"Hold on, what did you say they were giving him?" John asked, suddenly realising he'd not really been paying too much attention to what Mike was saying.

"Dopamine for-"

"Sorry I have to go," John told him as he started back down the corridor as Mike shouted questions, "I'll explain later." It didn't take John long to reach Sherlock's hospital room and barge in through the door and quickly stop the giving Sherlock the drug.

"Oi, what are you doing?"

"It's alright, I'm a doctor."

"I know it is going to be, I'm a doctor."

"Yeah, well I'm his doctor!" John insisted, hoping that would be an end to it, however he was proven wrong when the doctor opened his mouth to speak.

"Then you should be aware that we are treating hypovolemic shock and so the use of-"

"Dopamine is necessary, yes I know," Doctor Watson finished, "You're treating the wrong thing. You need to be giving him Ipecac or Benzodiazepines."

"Ipecac? Benzodiazepines?" The obviously young doctor questioned.

"Yes to treat Botulinum toxin." John explained as he moved around, attempting to find the drugs he needed for Sherlock

"I'm sorry?"

"Poison," John was almost certain he had seen the doctors mouth drop, "You know you could have killed him right?"

"No, no... I thought-" John zoned out from listening to the prattle of the doctor as he tried to cover his mistake while John busily tried to undo any damage that had been done by the Dopamine. A voice interrupted his work and John didn't even need to flip his head up to know whom it belonged to and just continued working.

"Well then Doctor I think we need to talk." As the doctor exited the room, John pulled over a chair and sat down by Sherlock's bed, hoping he'd done enough to resist the Dopamine's effects from causing more damage.

* * *

"Welcome back to the world of the living," John commented as Sherlock woke up, blinking his eyes open, "I was going to say you might have a headache from the mix of drugs, but with your drug history you might not need it."

"What happened?" Sherlock asked curiously as he sat up and looked at the doctor.

"Mycroft pulled rank." Watson answered simply. Sherlock made a complacent hmm sound in reply before his eyes narrowed and his senses suddenly seemed to snap like a wolfhound let off a tether.

"Mycroft?"

"Yes, Mycroft."

"What's he doing here?"

"Visiting you," John replied simply, sitting in silence for a moment before he noticed Sherlock very discontented face and consternated sir that hung around, "Do you er... do you want me to tell him to leave?"

"Yes good idea John," Sherlock answered sarcastically with a wave of his hands, a response which - as a whole - told the doctor that the idea that been thought of ages ago and simply not voiced, "You do that."

With some exasperation, John rose to his feet before looking back over at his companion, "You do know I can't pull rank over him if he says no."

"Yes, yes."

"Okay," John answered while making his way across the room and to the door which would lead him out into the corridor where Mycroft and Anthea stood with a doctor, the former's umbrella being swung at odd occasions as though to make or emphasise a point. As he placed a hand on the door, John turned back to face Sherlock, "Remember I'll only be outside if you need me."

"Why would I need you?" The Consulting Detective questioned curiously as he furrowed his brow.

"I have no idea," John told him as he exited the room. As the door swung shut, he mumbled to himself, "No thank you John for realising what I was poisoned with, or thank you John for saving my life again." The only reward the ex-army doctor could have was in knowing that Sherlock did appreciate the action, but only thanked people mentally.

And that was the eleventh story of how John Watson saved the life of Sherlock Holmes: by saving him from being poisoned.

* * *

Once again so sorry for the delay on this. I'll upload the next chapter on Saturday. Thank you for all of the favourites, alerts, reviews and of course for reading :)


	12. Chapter 11: Stabbed

Sorry this is later than planned, I'm going to go straight into the chapter.

This is set after A Scandal in Belgravia, but before the Hounds of Baskerville.

* * *

"He's saved mine so many times and in so many ways."

* * *

John had become accustomed to sleeping lightly. Firstly it was the war which did that, followed by the nightmares and living with Sherlock. So hearing sounds throughout the night wasn't an unusual occurrence. To hear something - or rather someone? - shout something then making a very loud banging sound before complete silence, wasn't.

The doctor sat up and looked around his room briefly before getting up and grabbing his gun and heading downstairs as quickly and stealthy as he could manage, ready to at least injure or threaten anyone other than Sherlock.

As he entered the living room - stance balanced, grip tight, gun up ready to fire - he was completely shocked to find Sherlock holding onto the mantle piece as he seemingly tried to pull himself up off of the floor.

"Sherlock?" John questioned as he walked over, gun still held at his side, but lowered.

"Good evening John." The Consulting Detective stated as he pulled himself up onto his feet with a pained gasp and his hand flew to his side. John frowned for a moment before looking at the state of the flat.

"What happened here?" Sherlock didn't reply, just breathed deeply for a moment, "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Sherlock replied as he turned around and staggered forward, John only just being placed well enough to catch him with a few steps forward, "Okay, maybe not fine."

"Obviously," John answered as he led his flatmate to the sofa and sat him down before noticing something, "Sherlock, move your hand a second." With a small roll of his eyes, Sherlock moved his hand.

"Don't worry about it." Was the Detective's explanation.

"Don't worry about it!" John exclaimed in sudden shock, "Sherlock, you've been stabbed!"

"Evidently."

"When? Who by?"

"Not important. Dismiss it."

"Dismiss it?" John questioned, "Seriously Sherlock-"

"Seriously, Doctor Watson." The younger interrupted.

"You can't just cut me off like that! Where's the knife? Do you remember what it looked like? A type?"

"I don't know, a knife?"

"How can you not know? You know everything, you have a mind palace!"

"I was being stabbed I wasn't- Oh I do."

"Precisely, that's why I-"

"Shut up John, I'm going to my mind palace."

"Sure." John mumbled as he quickly left the room. Sherlock took moments to fall asleep. The stairs of his mind palace becoming harder to climb before he felt himself falling backwards and into oblivion.

* * *

"What do you mean you can't do nothing?" John's voice filtered through.

"It's outrageous I think," Mrs Hudson's distinctive voice followed, "You claim to be out to help people and you can't even help your friends. Completely shocking."

"I quite agree Mrs Hudson," Sherlock groaned and was aware of John's presence near him a second later, "When something like this involves my bro-"

"Hello Mycroft, I'm fine, goodbye Mycroft. Give my love to Mum and Dad."

"Oh Sherlock, you are awake, forgive me I couldn't tell," Without even opening his eyes, Sherlock could tell Mycroft had sat himself down, "Mummy is worried sick, she wants to travel up to see you."

"Well there's no need - I'm not dying," Sherlock stated before gesturing with a wayward arm without any clue as to what could be near him, "Tell him John, tell him I'm fine.

"I can't make him believe it Sherlock," John insisted before he obviously turned to Mycroft, "Mycroft, he will be fine though."

"It's still atrocious," Mrs Hudson commented, returning to the previous topic as though she had never actually finished with it, "After all the help Sherlock gives you."

"Yes, I'm aware of that Mrs Hudson, but I do not make the final decision and I-"

"What do you mean you don't make the final decision?" John questioned, "Of course you can, you're a DI, you have a whole team to give orders to."

"Yes and so I have a DCI who gives me orders." Lestrade replied, sparking a four way debate, which after a few minutes, seemed to be utterly endless.

"Can everyone shut up, I have a headache!" Sherlock exclaimed quietly and over all of the noise he was heard. Sherlock Holmes held one of those presences that once he spoke or made some kind of gesture, you couldn't ignore it, no matter how quiet it be or whether it be conveyed silently.

"I'll get tea." Mrs Hudson declared after minutes of silence had passed them by.

"Well isn't this fun." Mycroft commented seconds later.

"Oh shut up Mycroft." Sherlock mumbled before opening his eyes for the first time since he had passed out originally. Lestrade was awkwardly stood by the door, almost seeming as though he wished to melt into it as he looked down at the floor. Mycroft had sat in his brother's usual armchair, umbrella being twiddled between his fingers as though he was bored out of his mind and John was beside him – ever the doctor – ensuring he was okay.

Looking outside, the morning sun shone in and Sherlock clocked what time it could be. So he'd only slept for about ten hours at the most, but yet he didn't feel as though he was in enough pain to warrant having only been stabbed about ten hours ago. Plus wasn't that a bit early for the police to be giving up?

"In fact Mycroft why don't you leave?" Sherlock asked curiously before pointing to the door, "Do sit down Lestrade, anyone would think you're expecting us to murder you." The Detective Inspector seemed slightly shocked, but either why sat down on the chair by the window.

"I won't be leaving Sherlock, I've moved some important meetings to be here." Mycroft stated.

"Hmm, a dentist appointment you mean," Sherlock replied, "You've been eating too much sugar again brother dear."

"In fairness Sherlock, Mycroft did cancel a very important meeting to help me two mornings ago. I would have had to call an ambulance otherwise."

"I'm you didn't. As you know I hate hospitals." Sherlock commented.

"Yes, I know, but I also don't. I wish someone would tell me…"

"Two mornings ago? Why two mornings ago? I was stabbed last night?"

"The story as to why." John finished after Sherlock talked over him.

"Yes John we are all aware of that, but where is this two days ago thing coming from?"

"You've been unconscious for that time Sherlock." Lestrade stated in explanation.

"Gave me the fright of my life you did," Mrs Hudson joined in as she carried in cups of tea on a tray, "The worst part was finding that man at the bottom of the stairs when I went out to do my morning cleaning."

"The one that someone can't supposedly charge for it." John stated.

"We don't have the evidence!" Lestrade shouted with a raised hand gesture, "And he's claiming Sherlock attacked him." Eyes turned to the Consulting Detective.

"He'd just stabbed me!" The other defended, "What was I meant to do? Say 'oh hang on let me take your name and number to give to the police' or 'shall we be friends now? Would you like a cup of tea?'"

John couldn't help but laugh.

"No will someone explain to me what I've missed? There must be some cases after two days."

"There are, but you aren't allowed to go on any of them." Mycroft answered as Sherlock went to stand up.

"Why?" The younger Holmes brother asked, completely irritated.

"Because we suspect Moriarty to be behind this, so until my suspicions are confirmed, you are confined to this flat." Then Mycroft made a stupid move and smiled. Sherlock was sat up now and looking at his elder brother with eyes showing complete hate and with rage practically seething off of him.

Lestrade made a wise move of leaving here and Mycroft made strange move to follow the Detective Inspector, although Sherlock explained to John later it was most likely to convince someone to charge the man.

"It's not the end of the world Sherlock." John commented simply a little while later, hoping to make the environment easier for the pair of them to breathe again.

"How? Why? Don't be silly John of course it is."

"No, if you can't solve a real case, we'll find one which you can from that sofa while you recover," John paused and Sherlock frowned as he watched him move around to find something. He eventually turned around with what looked to be a game box, "We'll play Cluedo!"

Little did John know what he was in for when he declared such.

And that was the twelfth story of how John Watson saved the life of Sherlock Holmes: by saving him after being stabbed.

* * *

Sorry this is late. My internet providers are terrible and I currently have to type one handed which is extremely annoying! Any way thanks for reviewing, favouriting, alerting and of course reading.

As a final note, please be aware that this time there will be no update until the 28th/29 March as I have a final project due in and so need to dedicate quite a bit of time to that and I cannot do that easily with one hand, so I will put this on hold and then return to my normal once a week updating schedule :)


End file.
